


Two-Sided Coin

by CaptainReina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Twins, Betrayal, M/M, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, garrett and marian both exist, im a hoe for them as twins, leandra is a bad mom, mafia, yes leandra popped out two sets of twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainReina/pseuds/CaptainReina
Summary: Ever since the kidnapping of his sisters, Garrett Hawke and his brother Carver have fought to find them and take them back. Fenris, however, threatens to topple his priorities and give him peace he's never known.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> surprise. im a hoe for dragon age.

"Oh, Hawky," Isabela drawled. "Can't you take a break for  _one_ night?"

Dozens of police reports lay sprawled across his desks, so many he was starting to lose track of them. Not that he was losing track yet, of course. Not Garrett Hawke. They were just getting . . . a little out of hand. And blurry. It was getting increasingly difficult to read every different officer's scrawl. Perhaps he should actually bother one of those transcribers Carver took advantage of.

That did  _not_ mean a break, though. If he wasn't analyzing these homicide witnesses' reports, he would be mulling over investigation information regarding New York's mafia problem. There were no new clues, no reports he didn't know by heart, but that meant nothing. There was a link. He  _knew_ there was a link. Carver knew there was a link.

Carver Hawke sat on the other side of the cardboard separator, his cubicle right up against Garrett's workspace. That probably wasn't supposed to be the case, what with their rank difference - hell, Garrett had an entire office to himself - but they heavily preferred working next to each other, and nobody had seen an issue granting them the privilege. Garrett's younger brother gave Isabela a weary quirked eyebrow.

"We have more important things to do than go clubbing with you," he said dryly. Isabela snorted, resting her forearms on the desk, and Garrett had a nagging feeling it was just to show off her ample cleavage in an attempt to change Carver's mind.

"Not you." Alright, maybe he was wrong. "You're no fun. I know Hawky will drink with me, though."

"Isabela . . . "

"Yes, Kitten?" Her voice was sultry and suggestive in response to the man's heavy sigh, and she stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "Come on, we all miss you. It's been so dreadfully long since you joined us for a round."

"Garrett?" Carver had been so certain of himself just seconds ago, and hell, Garrett had been too; they definitely had more important things to do. Their ongoing investigation, the filing, the mountains of daily paperwork that Garrett may or may not have been guilty of downright neglecting.

He stroked his beard in contemplation, and Isabela let out an excited squeal. When Garrett was thinking, she knew she'd won.

"You should come with us, Carver," he relented, and his brother gave him one of the most sour looks he had ever seen, and that was saying a lot. "Or don't, I suppose."

"Some of us don't like to slack," Carver scowled. Isabela pouted harder. He sighed, relenting, and waved a dismissive hand at her. "Go have fun, then. Tell Merrill I say hi."

Isabela cooed. "You could just tell her yourself, you know," she suggested, offering a hand. Carver ignored it.

"Priorities," he muttered, and they all pretended to ignore the red spreading across his cheeks and reaching his ears. He ducked his head and focused on the keyboard in front of him. Isabela let out another chortle, grabbing Garrett's arm.

"That's settled, then! Onward!"

Garrett barely had time to grab his briefcase before she was tugging him away in a show of surprising strength. He was positive she merely wanted him to leave his work things at work, but he couldn't afford to lose any valuable resources or materials. Carver raised his hand in farewell as they made their way to the elevator, and Garrett waved up until the doors slid closed.

Isabela already smelled of alcohol - but then, she nearly  _always_ smelled of alcohol. Confirming his suspicions, she produced a bottle of rum from seemingly nowhere and took a large swig, then offered it to Hawke. He politely declined.

"Boo," she said, but took a happy swig in his stead, looping her other arm with his. Isabela was always so comfortable when she was literally hanging on everyone else. "Come on, we've even got Aveline out of her man-cave for the night. You don't go out with the boys to turn down rum!"

"Half of you are girls," Garrett pointed out. "And I find it hard to believe Aveline is there for the booze."

"Well, she's still drinking." Isabela drank once more from the bottle. It was now half-empty. "That's all I care about. Better than you, at least."

Garrett elected to ignore the comment. At least he was going out at all - that was rare, and Isabela knew it, so she didn't push. He only really agreed because the only work he would get to tonight was what Aveline called his "proper" work ( _"You're not going to get anywhere with those leads, Hawke, put your real work first"_ ), and he did not want to deal with that on his down time. Carver could speak for himself. He had all his day work done and could properly focus on their investigation.

Not that there was much even going on in their investigation. They had tiny breakthroughs here and there, but nothing that actually helped at all. He smiled to himself. Carver would strangle him for thinking that, no matter how true it was. Perhaps Garrett was just getting older, but their goal was just seeming so impossible, so unlikely, so menial and boring at this point. Maybe he was mellowing out.

He was not going to give up. He just . . . supposed he could afford a little down time.

The elevator doors slid open, and then Isabela was dragging him outside. The cool March air hit him instantly, so much more pleasant than that muggy office, and he wanted to stand there for a long while and simply breathe it all in. Maybe he was aging. Maybe it was just the work. Nevertheless, Isabela did not grant him pause, leading him across the lot, across the street, and into the Hanged Man.

The Hanged Man was a decent bar. It was a little rough around the edges, with a few lightbulbs out, some worn upholstery, and occasionally some questionable characters, but the alcohol was decent and the police station had never had to make a house call, so it was a favorite among officers of all ranks. The owner certainly didn't mind all the traffic; the cops were likely the primary reason the place was still afloat.

"Ah! Hawke! Best captain in the world! You've really done us a service, Rivaini."

Isabela gave a less than graceful curtsy, and Varric chuckled, gesturing for Garrett to join their little party at the corner booth. Everyone else was there - Aveline, as promised, nursing a whiskey; Varric, with a larger bottle, scribbling away at a notebook; Anders shoved in the corner, sipping a beer and keeping out of the way; Isabela, squealing and latching onto Aveline, causing a hell of a scene; and sweet little Merrill, already quite tipsy, face flushed with some fancy mixed drink in her hand.

"Get off of me, you wench!" Lieutenant Colonel Aveline had her hands on Isabela's waist, trying hard to pry the woman off of her, to no avail. Isabela grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, but don't you know?" Isabela crooned, grasping at the officer's muscled biceps with stars in her eyes. "I just  _love_ being manhandled, big girl."

Aveline made a noise of disgust, shoving Isabela firmly off her lap and onto the floor, shuffling as far away as possible. Laughing, Garrett took the seat next to her, effectively saving her from more torment. Isabela merely sighed happily from her spot on the floor, earning another sound of distaste. There was the Isabela he knew. Undoubtedly not yet drunk, but tipsy enough to act the part, and she adored doing so.

"Oh! So good of you to join us, Hawke!" Merrill seemed to have just noticed him, and she leaned over both Anders and Aveline to take his hand. There was surprisingly little protest at the action. Then again, everyone loved Merrill. "You never go drinking with us."

Garrett rubbed at his neck with his free hand. "Well . . . " She was right. He never went out with them anymore, not since his old days as a cadet. So rarely, in fact, that he often felt as though he was forgetting how to socialize. With his own friends. What a mess. "I'm a busy man. Lots of things to do."

"He was doing  _paperwork_  when I went to get him!" Isabela sounded scandalized, and Aveline let out a derisive snort.

"Maybe if you did your real work during the day, you wouldn't have to make it up in the wee hours of the night." Garrett had no real response to that. She was right, really. He had no business sacrificing important work for his personal reasons. Still, he gave a sort of nervous laugh, and Merrill patted his hand sympathetically.

"Maybe you shouldn't issue him such boring work," Isabela complained. Aveline didn't even grant her a glance.

"Now, now," Varric interjected, raising his hands in a consoling manner, that voice of his ever so smooth and calming, "did we really invite Hawke just for a roasting session? The man could use some booze!"

Isabela was so quick to rise that she nearly fell over from the dizziness it elicited. "You're right! To the bar, Hawky!"

"Not you, Rivaini," Varric said firmly. He looked around the booth, assessing the current damages and the upcoming ones, and settled on a choice. "Blondie, why don't you go?"

He certainly could have chosen easier. Having been sitting in the middle, everyone scrambled to get out of the way, despite Anders only needing one path out of the booth. Surely they weren't all this uncoordinated? Garrett glanced at the slight flush on Aveline's face, the serene smile on Merrill's, the bottles in both Isabela's and Varric's hands, and then compared them to the general air of sobriety surrounding Anders. Suddenly, he was thankful.

Finally, the man was free, and they both made their way to the bar. Anders seemed grateful as well, now that they were away from their rowdy friends. They seated themselves on the high stools and, without even glancing at the bartender, Anders ordered Garrett a rum and coke, placing a few bills on the bartop.

"Thanks," Garrett said lamely, and Anders waved his hand dismissively.

"It's nothing." He took a sip of the bottle in his hands and made a face. "This tastes awful." Garrett couldn't help but chuckle.

"Then why did you get it?"

"Because it's been a long day, and I don't want to get completely trashed."

"And the easiest way to do that was . . . ?"

"Cheap ass beer, yeah."

They were both smiling, and some of the awkward tension that had been pressing down on Garrett's shoulders since he walked in released. Anders was one hell of a workaholic, like him. He had to be, when Varric was always on some odd job and he was left with all the forensics work. He forced himself to be more social than Garrett, but it stressed him out to no end to leave all that work behind. Still, at least he got to smash watermelons with a sledgehammer when things got bad, and call it research.

Anders also wasn't much of a drinking person. Whether it was the stress, because he was a horrible lightweight, the way he acted when he was totally smashed, or the awful, miserable way he handled hangovers, he seemed very averse to it. Garrett didn't blame him. He was a damn mess of a drunk.

"Varric has me working so hard lately," Anders complained, taking another swig. Vague concern sparked somewhere in Garrett's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. If Anders wanted to ruin his pace while he vented, that would be his own problem in the morning.

"He has two jobs in the station," Garrett pointed out. Anders pouted. It was so reminiscent of Isabela when she guilted people into doing things for her that Garrett laughed.

"So do  _I!_ " Anders sounded offended at the mere mention of Varric's double duty. "I have all that medical stuff, you know!"

"Yes, but only in emergencies."

Anders let out an indignant huff, nursing his beer. Garrett let his eyes wander as the blonde brooded, hunched over the bar with his forearms resting on the counter top. There were a few other officers about, very few that he really recognized, nobody whose name he knew. There was a waitress, but she mostly socialized with some regulars.

The bar itself was completely occupied, and suddenly Garrett realized why his drink was taking so long (well, not long, but long for a rum and coke). The white-hared bartender worked fast, but demands were issued every couple seconds. He was mesmerizing to watch. Every drink was measured - but  _not_ measured, eyeballed, rather - with astonishing precision, five glasses lined up at once and prepared at the same time, delivered quickly to each person. It actually seemed as if some guests were ordering just to watch him work.

The bartender turned to face them, reaching for a glass above Garrett's head, and he wouldn't lie, he was a little shaken at the man he was faced with.

"Sorry." His voice was so low and gruff. It went well with his general aesthetic - the dark, caramel skin, the crisscrossing white tattoos that peeked out from the rolled up sleeves and turned up collar of his leather jacket, the mute grays and blacks, the sharp angles of his face, the bleached whiteness of his hair, the startling green of his eyes. "I'll have your drink ready in a moment."

"No, it's quite alright," Garrett said, much closer to a mumble than he had intended. The bartender flashed him a faint smile before turning back around. Anders snorted.

"Stop gawking."

"I am  _not_ gawking." Okay, maybe he was gawking a little. Anders rolled his eyes, taking another sip, and Garrett had never felt more judged in his life.

"I can't believe you ignored me to gawk at the pretty bartender," he muttered moodily, resting his head in his arms. The alcohol was definitely getting to him - he was a depressed drunk. Something told Garrett he should take the beer from him, but he didn't care enough to when Anders was busy being petty.

Conveniently - or inconveniently, Garrett didn't know yet - Isabela chose that moment to sashay over, throwing her arms around his neck and practically crawling onto his lap. She was significantly more intoxicated now than when he left the table. She sighed dramatically, withdrawing one hand to place it dramatically and woefully on her forehead.

"You take  _so_ long," she whined, and tapped on the bar. "Bottle of your best bourbon."

"Get off," Garrett said idly, without much venom. "People will start to suspect things."

"Oh, Hawky!" Isabela only wrapped her arms tighter, her whining increasing in volume. "Are you breaking up with me? What a cruel man you are!"

"Isabela," came Aveline's annoyed voice, and the busty woman on Garrett's lap laughed uproariously. Yep, definitely drunk. Anders poked his head up next to them, looking absolutely miserable.

"He just wants to be available in case the cute bartender waltzes over and asks for his number," he grumbled. Isabela leaped off of her friend's lap instantly and bounced in excitement, grabbing Aveline's arm as she came close to the trio.

"The cute bartender?!" She was much too loud when she repeated it, and it made Garrett wince. "A cute bartender for our Hawky!"

"Isabela, please." Sure, he was cute, and lowkey Garrett's type, but . . . "I'm too busy. You know that."

"Maybe you shouldn't be," he caught Aveline mumbling, and he had never felt so betrayed in his life. He gave her a scandalized look, and she merely shrugged her freckled shoulders.

Isabela looked over to the bartender in question and immediately squealed in delight. Garrett rolled his eyes. He could feel the wingman in her coming out, and he desperately hoped it wouldn't.

"He's perfect!"

He hoped in vain.

The bartender approached him with a glass in hand. He set out a plain coaster and placed the drink on it, then slid it over to Garrett. Maker, his eyes were pretty. Garrett was no blushing schoolgirl, but his throat did go a little dry, looking at this hell of a man.

"Rum and coke," he said, in that perfect voice of his, and sparks flew. Garrett was hyper aware of every breath, as if it had gone from being second nature to a conscious effort. The bartender's eyes were so green, like a forest. A forest he'd love to explore, to spend forever mapping out and getting to know like the back of his hand. Those eyes pierced into his soul, and he loved it.

Garrett forced himself out of that stupor and accepted the drink. "Thanks." The bartender lingered for a second, eyes on him and him only, and then moved away. It felt like the world resumed spinning after it had stopped just for them. Garrett shook his head and, contrary to his original plan of keeping the alcohol intake low, gulped a third of it down right there.

"He's new," Isabela whispered in fervent excitement. "Holy shit, Hawky, I could  _feel_  the UST."

"Isabela," Garrett warned, but she was having none of it.

"Hawky," she interrupted firmly, eyes glinting with something dead serious, "you are getting laid tonight."

Anders let out a snort of laughter this time, and Aveline rolled her eyes. They all knew the fruitlessness of that. Almost as if on cue, Varric wandered over, Merrill in tow since she didn't like being alone. He took in the scene: Isabela somewhere between hanging on Aveline and readying to fight Garrett, Anders with his head in his hands. At Isabela's urging, he glanced over to the bartender, and nodded knowingly.

"Maybe we won't get him laid," Varric said reasonably, "but we will get him a hot date."

Garrett groaned. Isabela was beyond excited. Anders wanted to go home.

Varric waved the bartender over, settling an easy smile on his handsome face. The man was small, but damn, was he charming. When the bartender came over, he shot a brief glance at Garrett before awaiting Varric's request.

"What's your name, Broody?"

 _Broody!_ Garrett wanted to groan again. Sure, the guy was a little . . . serious . . . but  _broody?_ Wasn't that an insult? Maker, they were going to totally ruin this. All of it. He should start digging his own grave now.

"He really is rather moody-looking, isn't he?" Merrill put in, far too chipper for her alcohol intake.

"Nothing like Anders," Garrett managed through the shame and metaphorical tears, and Anders made a disgruntled noise, hugging his empty beer bottle.

Broody quirked an eyebrow and visibly fought against quirking his lips as he offered Anders another beer. The blonde snatched it from him. "What's it to you, little man?"

"Why," Varric laughed, "I make it an effort to know all the handsome, brooding bartenders around here!"

The man did break into a smile then, and Garrett was amazed. Varric was all charm. If anyone else had tried such an approach, the bartender looked like he probably would have snapped them in half.

"It's Fenris," the bartender said, amused.

 _Fenris._ Garrett had flashbacks to Norse mythology - Fenrir, the Fenris-Wolf. Born a wolf cub, grew to become insurmountably strong, so strong he could break through any chain, and was prophesied to help bring about the end of the world. He was bound through foul play and betrayal, but it was said that he would break free for Ragnarok and devour all in his path.

"Fenris, like a wolf?" Merrill clapped her hands together. Way to read his mind, Merrill. It really frightened Garrett, sometimes. Still. A wolf. He was rather fond of that idea. Those eyes always seemed to pierce right into him, like a hunter stalking prey.

"Fenris!" Isabela leaned forward on the counter, pressing her breasts together pointedly.  _"Fenris._ I like that. Are you single, Fenris?"

Garrett nearly choked on his drink. Fenris looked vaguely uncomfortable (that was actually somewhat rare, with someone as generously bestowed as her), inching away almost imperceptibly and looking away from Isabela. His eyes wandered - and landed right on Garrett.

"I'm not with anyone, no," he replied, locking their gazes, and Garrett could feel his heart stutter.

"Isabela, don't harass him," Aveline chided, seizing her upper arm and pulling her back. Fenris seemed relieved. Garrett was also relieved. Isabela was a handful, that was for sure. Still, he was surprised Fenris didn't go for it. Almost everyone did.

"She's right, Rivaini," Varric said, more gently. He turned to Fenris. "Can we get some water for this one?" Fenris wordlessly grabbed a glass and filled it in the sink behind the bar. Varric accepted it graciously and addressed Garrett. "We'll be over there, Hawke, taking care of this hot mess."

"Oh, but it's rather cool in here, don't you think?" Late to understand as always, Merrill piped in. "Are you feeling feverish, Isabela?"

"I'm not a mess," Isabela complained, but she was already being dragged away. Garrett could not express the amount of relief he felt.

He looked up at Fenris, but he was already turning away to take care of other customers. Garrett sighed and refrained from mimicking Anders's pathetic position, curled up on his stool with his head cradled in a pillow of his arms, though the urge was strong. He did not come out here for this mess. He wanted a drink or two, to catch up, and to go home, then straight back to work, not to have all of his friends trying to play wingman and  _failing miserably._

"Hawke, is it?"

Had Garrett mentioned how mesmerizing that voice was yet? Because it really was.

"That's me," he replied before even looking. He was glad of that, because he felt his mouth dry up the moment he looked at Fenris. Clearing his throat, he added in a surprisingly strong voice, "Garrett, actually. But everyone calls me Hawke."

"Would you prefer Garrett?" Fenris asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. Maker. Garrett was 29, a grown ass man, yet he was still nervous. He idly wondered how old Fenris was. And was he really asking his preference? Like it mattered between a bartender and customer?

"Which, uh, whichever works for you," Garrett said sheepishly. At last, a slip-up. Now he could sufficiently hate himself for his mistakes. Fantastic. Eager to move on and avoid letting it fester, he changed the topic. "Sorry for my friends. They can be . . . "

"Something," Fenris finished for him, his lips curling into something akin to a smile. Garrett really liked that smile. He nodded dumbly.

"Isabela's a mess."

"I'm sure she means well."

They were quiet for a moment, long enough to hear Anders make a vague complaining grumble next to them before he shifted and fell silent again. Fenris was staring at him, eyes narrowed slightly in what seemed to be contemplation. Garrett felt as though he was being carefully inspected as those eyes and that gaze slid over the various features on his face, including the scar across his nose and his magnificent beard. In return (or retaliation?), Garrett allowed himself to gawk at the sharp lines and strong angles of Fenris's face.

 _No time,_ he reminded himself sternly.

"You know, your friends aren't very quiet," Fenris interrupted his thoughts. Garrett felt embarrassment wash over him, but merely buried his face in his spiked coke and kept quiet. "And that Isabela is a shit wingman. Wingwoman."

 _I didn't even want a wingwoman,_ he silently mourned, but saying that would imply he wasn't interested in Fenris, which he  _was._ He really was. He just didn't have time.

"Sorry about that," Garrett apologized. "I tried to tell them not to do it."

Fenris shook his head and eyed him again, giving a thoughtful little hum. "I find it surprising that a man with your presence even needs a wingman." Wait, what? "You could just talk to me, you know. I'm not always busy."

Wait, wait, wait, hold the phone. Was Fenris flirting? Not flirting. Inviting him to flirt? Just talk? Both? It had been entirely too long since he had done anything of the sort in terms of chatting someone up with romantic intent. What did he even talk about? What did he say? Good grief, Fenris was  _right there._ Say something!

"I haven't seen you here before," he blurted, and almost instantly regretted it. If it hadn't been for the decidedly calm expression on Fenris's face, Garrett would have run right then and there. Imagine that, a burly man like Garrett Hawke running from a cute bartender who was directly asking to talk to him.

Fenris seemed a little surprised, as if he expected something else to be said, but responded smoothly nevertheless. "Well, I've worked here for a week," he said, "and I haven't seen you, either. I take it you don't show up often."

"Hardly," Garrett told him. "Always busy with work."

"With bullshit, you mean," Anders mumbled tiredly from his arms, and Garrett made a strangled noise.

He wanted to dump the rest of his rum and coke on Anders. He resisted the urge, mostly because Fenris was reaching under the counter for more rum and coke. It was as if he'd read Garrett's mind and was getting him more liquor to distract him. That, or he was just a good bartender that noticed a customer's glass was getting low. The world may never know.

"I assume you're an officer, like everyone who goes through here?" Fenris questioned as he topped the glass off, and Garrett took a sip before he answered.

"So perceptive," he teased as Fenris put the drinks away. "You should join the force." Fenris rolled his pretty eyes and rested his forearms on the counter, not replying. Something akin to distaste lingered in his expression before he smoothed his features into a smile, and Garrett relented. "I'm a captain. I just have a lot of paperwork, and sometimes I slack." It wasn't a lie, just a half-truth. Fenris didn't ask, so he didn't tell. "I'm really not even supposed to be here."

Fenris leaned forward, and Garrett was frozen in place. It was as if he was being scrutinized for all of a second, and then those lips spread in something of a mischievous smile.

"Well, you wouldn't mind staying for a few more drinks, would you, Captain Hawke?" he nearly purred, and Maker if Garrett's knees didn't get a little weak. People used his surname all the time - first-name bases were unprofessional in the office, and uncommon outside of it - and yet something about the way Fenris said it made him shiver. It was probably just because it was Fenris saying it.

He was so glad he was sitting down.

"Well, the office is closed." At least, he hoped Carver had gone home by now. "So I suppose I'm here as long as you want me."

"A lot longer than tonight," Fenris whispered, so quiet only Garrett could hear it, and promptly backed off.

He turned away to serve refills, and Garrett fought hard not to let his entire body sag.  _A grown ass man!_ he reminded himself.  _A grown ass man with no time for commitments!_  Though Fenris only worked across the street, and sounded like he worked pretty regularly, so it sounded like he could really come see him anytime. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? Carver might get a little mad, but . . .

Carver. No, he couldn't abandon his little brother to their shared research. They had important work to do, and Garrett knew it couldn't wait for his own little escapades. He had more important things to do, even if Fenris was an absolute god on earth and made his heart beat like it hadn't ever done before. Garrett Hawke didn't do relationships, and he wouldn't until he had taken care of more important things.

But maybe . . .

"Your number." Fenris slid a receipt and a pen under his hand and crossed his arms expectantly.

Maybe . . .

"My what?" Garrett asked, much more stupid than he wanted to sound, and Fenris allowed a chuckle.

"Your number," he repeated. "I'm going to text you and invite you out. So write down your number."

Maybe after everything. Maybe later.

Satisfied with the answer he'd given himself, Garrett took the pen and wrote his number down in a neat scrawl. Later, when everything was over, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least keep his options open right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of dialogue and kinda filler-ish content in this chapter, really just buildup for later.

Names, numbers, faces, records. Black and white. Sometimes Garrett wished they would switch it around some - white and black, maybe. The screens were just less than easy on the eyes.

It was only eleven in the morning, and the Garrett had already landed himself with a clusterfuck of a homicide case. Mother dead, step-parents and bio father missing, and child vanished without a trace. The school became suspicious when efforts to locate the truant child, a six-year-old girl, went disregarded, and calls home granted no insight. The police were called, the mother was found rotting in her apartment, and everyone else? Nowhere to be found, contact information either incorrect or discarded from the crime.

The case was a little beyond what Garrett usually dealt with, but all homicide cases were to come across his desk, and perhaps he could admit that he had gotten a little attached. It was a missing child case, for goodness' sake. The Hawke brothers tended to have a one-track mind with their personal investigation, but Garrett was far from heartless. Carver complained, but not too much - unlike with Garrett's occasional personal ventures, distraction via station work was generally acceptable in his book. After all, they had responsibilities, and could not afford the loss of resources that would come with losing the job.

_Buzz._

Speaking of personal ventures.

Garrett fumbled with his phone, which vibrated twice in rapid succession. A text. As he struggled to get it out (damn slacks and their dumb tight pockets), it gave another double buzz. Finally, he freed the device, and unlocked it to see a foreign number.

_xxx-xxxx: It's Fenris._

_xxx-xxxx: I know you're probably at work, so text me when you're free._

Fenris. It took everything in the elder Hawke's power not to either make an embarrassing noise or break into a ridiculous smile as he added the number to his contacts under that name. He had not forgotten about the cute bartender from the previous night, though it might have been better if he had. There was no time for romance, after all . . . but Garrett really could not help but pine for Fenris, and what was he supposed to do when he flirted back? Turn him down?

Carver would have said yes. Garrett chose to ignore that fact, instead typing a quick response.

_A little busy, but I can make time if I'm discreet ;) What's up?_

Jesus Christ, Garrett Hawke, was that a winky face? A winky face in your first message to the cute bartender that you just met last night and are definitely not supposed to flirt with? For the first time in years, his mind and heart were disagreeing on the correct course of action, and it showed. It was not like Garrett could send another message and take it back, however. That would completely shut everything down, and while his logical side would have been perfectly fine with that, the reckless romantic hiding in the dark recesses of his mind had already won this battle.

 _I won't let it get that far,_ he promised himself. It was not the first time this had happened, after all - Garrett was a man with needs and one thing always led to another - though it was the first time in a long while that he had felt so . . . out of control.

"If you've got time to gawk at your phone, then I assume you've made some headway on the case?"

Aveline's voice was harsh, and a weaker man would have jumped out of his seat and turned in his badge right there. Garrett still found himself flinching and shoving his phone back into his pocket. He gave the redhead a sheepish grin, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I didn't notice you come in, Lieutenant," he said evasively. Aveline placed a hand on her hip, not even bothering to mask the strong judgment from her face.

"That's Lieutenant Colonel, Hawke," she responded sharply, and he winced once more. Expression softening, Aveline asked, "The guy from last night?"

"Maybe."

Aveline shook her head with an exasperated sigh. "I'm happy for you and all, Hawke, but you've got shit to do. Maybe a walk will clear your head."

Garrett straightened up, tilting his head in question. "What do you need?"

"I've got to maintain peace between Chief Meredith and the Deputy," Aveline grumbled, and Garrett offered a sympathetic cringe. That was a fate he did not wish on anyone. The lieutenant set a thin manilla folder on his desk. "Take this and collect reports from forensics and the coroner. Drop it on my desk when you're finished."

"Good luck," Garrett called after her as she left his office. He supposed there was no time to waste. With a lack of reply from Fenris so far, he stood, stretched, and went on his merry way.

Various greetings rang out as he wandered through the office, and he stopped by to check on Carver on his way. His brother was hyper-focused, deep in his work, and shooed Garrett away with an irritated huff. Rolling his eyes in a show of faux irritation and fondness for his brother, Garrett wandered out of the vast room of cubicles and to the elevator.

It was a short ride from the second floor to the fourth, and he stepped out into a small sort of foyer. To his right was bulletproof glass, with a door that led into the forensics lab. To his left was smooth wall and a door into the office space. Garrett pushed open the door on his left and found a setup similar to the one on his floor, with cubicles dominating the room and a few enclosed offices for higher-ups. To his right was a windowed break room, and inside he saw Varric chatting with a few other workers.

Varric offered a grin and wave as Garrett entered the room, and promptly gestured for the others to leave. They did so without complaint as their short boss reached up on tiptoe and opened a cabinet. "Coffee?"

Garrett accepted the mug offered to him, trading it with the folder from Aveline. He poured himself a cup from the nearby coffee maker while Varric read over the scarce material inside - photos, minor details from the scene. He sprinkled in a small spoonful of sugar just to take the edge off and took a sip.

"What a mess," Varric muttered, closing the file when Garrett was about halfway through his mug. He nodded in agreement. "Real shame what happened to her. I'll go print the results of the scan real quick. Hint - it's a big fat zero." Varric turned to leave the room, but looked back over his shoulder with a knowing grin. "Help yourself to more, I know they don't have shit downstairs."

Long gone were the days when Garrett naively thought he could go without or shyly declined offers of kindness. He topped off his mug, and it was nearly overflowing by the time he added his sugar. Varric returned a second after. The folder in his hand was a tad thicker now.

"DNA doesn't match anything in any of our databases," he said, handing the file back. "No prints, no hair, none of the cells under her fingernails, no blood."

"Jesus," Garrett muttered, shaking his head. He left the room with Varric, and they headed back out to the foyer. "Thanks anyways, Varric."

"Not a problem, Hawke."

They parted ways, Varric strapping on a pair of goggles from a hook on the glass before heading into the lab, and Garrett returning to the elevator. He went down this time, past the ground floor and into the basement. It was cold down here, the air conditioner cranked as low as the coroner could stand it, much lower than Garrett himself was comfortable with, and the strong stench of formaldehyde and other preservatives in the air. He made his way through rows and rows of body lockers and to the small office in the corner of the basement.

Merrill greeted him with a smile far too chipper for the temperature. "Hawke! Here for the diagnosis?"

"Quickly, preferably," Garrett replied, clenching his teeth to avoid them chattering and trying hard not to wrinkle his nose at the smell. Merrill handed him a stack of papers held together with a clip, and he slid them into the folder as he followed her down the aisles.

She stopped in front of a specific one in the middle of a row - how she found her way around and memorized them so well, Garrett had absolutely no clue. She unlocked the door with a set of keys around her neck and opened it, then slid the rack out, body on top of it and covered with a sheet from the armpits downward. Immediately, Garrett wanted to retch at the stench. Merrill, however, seemed entirely unaffected.

"Blunt force trauma, though I'm sure you already gathered that," she said, indicating to the caved in skull. It was far from a pretty sight. "Most likely a baseball bat. Judging by the deterioration of the body and rotting of the wound, I'd say she was dead at least a week before we found her."

Garrett could tell. He turned away from the body, having finally had his fill, and Merrill let out a chortle as she slid the body back in and closed the locker once more while Garrett clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Thank you, Merrill," he managed from between his fingers. She shot him a knowing grin before they parted ways and she headed back for her desk. Garrett got the nagging feeling that she had absolutely intended on creeping him out.

Sometimes Merrill terrified him. Perhaps that was why Carver liked her so much - her tendency to chase off his brother. The thought elicited a chuckle. Merrill was cute, and she would be cuter with Carver. If only the guy would grow a pair and ask her out already. Maybe someday, Garrett thought.

The elevator was pleasantly warm and welcoming, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed, shutting out the cold basement air. He took the time to check his phone once more. It had vibrated with another message sometime while he was with Varric, judging by the time, and he had somehow failed to notice it - probably because he was so hyper focused on free coffee. Garrett was a man of simple desires.

_Fenris: I thought I would take you out for coffee. Get to know each other better._

Something fluttered in his chest at the proposal.  _Don't get too excited,_ he reminded himself, but it was a little too late for that. He tucked the folder under his arm and quickly typed out a response one-handed.

_Me: My lunch break is in about fifteen minutes. You know where I work._

The response was nearly immediate.

_Fenris: I'll be waiting outside for you, then._

Christ, he was in too deep already. He was going to regret this. It did not stop him.

Garrett was back up on the second floor in no time, quickly stepping out and heading past the cubicles to the higher-ups' hallway. He drained his mug and deposited it in the break room on the way. Aveline's office was a few doors down, right next to his own, and he could see her fiery hair through the frosted glass. He knocked before pushing the door open.

"Officer Hendyr," Garrett greeted politely. The man at Aveline's desk turned to look at him and offered a brief salute.

"Captain Hawke," Donnic said, tone friendly. He looked back at Aveline, giving her a quick wave before passing Garrett and exiting the office. When the door gave a soft  _click_  to signify its being latched, Garrett turned back to the lieutenant colonel, quirking his eyebrow in question.

"Donnic's a fine man," Aveline said simply, in a tone that warned Garrett against further questions. She walked around her desk and leaned against it as she took the file from his hands, and without question began flipping through the considerably thicker folder. "No DNA matches in our system from the perp . . . criminal record on the victim?"

Garrett was just as surprised by the news, having missed that tidbit. He supposed that would have been Merrill's job, and he did rush out of the room at the first opportunity. "What for?" he asked.

"Ten year old theft crime," Aveline answered, tone idle, eyes not leaving the papers. "Not much we can do with that. I suppose it's time to start questioning the neighbors. Let Thrask know, and he can send out some officers to look around." She returned to her chair and opened a drawer, depositing the file in with dozens others like it before turning back to Garrett. "And . . . Hawke?"

"Hm?"

"Keep me and Donnic on the down-low."

"Not a problem, Lieutenant Colonel."

Aveline rolled her eyes playfully and made a shooing motion, Garrett grinning in response. "Get out of here, Hawke. Aren't you supposed to be on break soon? Go get some fresh air for once."

Garrett found himself slightly flustered at the mention, reminded very suddenly of his meeting with Fenris. He said his goodbyes far too quickly and knew Aveline would question him for it later, but he could not bring himself to care. He was too busy thinking about Fenris. That stunning bartender with the snowy white hair, fascinating swirling tattoos, enchanting eyes, and  _god,_  that voice. Deep and a little growly, it gave him shivers just thinking about hearing it again.

And hear it he did, after sitting in his own office for another eight minutes, the most slow and painstaking ones of his life. He slipped on his jacket and headed for the door, asking Carver if he wanted anything while he was out (unsurprisingly, it was a hard no). He pushed his way through the revolving door and into the damp outdoors. It was going to rain, he noted idly.

And then Garrett saw him.

He was leaning with his back against the gray cement of the building, a pair of white earbuds jammed into his ears, and Garrett noted with growing curiosity that the lines of white ink even appeared there. Just how much of his body was covered? Fenris had a black beanie on, paired with an equally black hoodie and faded jeans. It was a stark contrast from the previous night, a much softer aesthetic. Garrett was more than a fan.

When Garrett cleared his throat, Fenris jumped minutely, head whipping around to stare with wide eyes. Forest green met soft brown, Fenris's posture grew relaxed, and Garrett's breath hitched in his throat. "Hawke," that incredible voice said, and it had a shiver running down Garrett's spine, intense enough to forget the other man's surprising skittishness.

"Fenris," Garrett said after a much too long pause, thankful that his tone remained smooth and did not betray the inner turmoil. He approached Fenris, and was entranced by those eyes once more, the surprisingly friendly expression, even the small movement of pulling his earbuds out. "Where are we headed? Should I drive?"

"Its within walking distance," Fenris replied, letting the buds hang around his neck and pulling a phone from his hoodie pocket, presumably turning off his music. He turned and began walking down the sidewalk, and Garrett fell into step behind him. "It's just a local place I used to go to in my college days while I studied. I don't go there much anymore, but it's nice."

"College days?" Garrett was surprised at that. A college education, and yet he was only a bartender at some run-down establishment? There were courses for that sort of thing, the officer knew, but not usually through college and they were not required. "What did you study?"

Fenris looked a little sheepish at that, and it was the most human emotion Garrett had seen on him yet. They stopped walking at a crosswalk and waited for the light to turn green. A hand went to the back of Fenris's neck. "A little bit of everything," he said after a moment. He broke the regular eye-contact the two had maintained so far, and Garrett wondered if he was embarrassed. "I went to get away from home, mostly. Naturally, I had no plan, so I dabbled in art classes, culinary, even took a veterinary course."

"A jack of all trades," Garrett piped up, an attempt at easing the tension in Fenris's shoulders. Surprisingly, it worked. Fenris moved his hand back to his pocket and glanced at Garrett once more.

"You could say that," he relented, looking forward as the light turned and they crossed the street. "I've got a useless art degree hanging on my wall, a hell of a lot of student debt, and two cats from the experience. Still take them to the vet, though."

"I've got a dog." Fenris's head moved sharply to stare, and Garrett found himself rather flustered at the attention on him. Fenris was a cat person, obviously. He would not care to hear about Garrett's slobbery hound. To his relief, however, Fenris showed surprising interest.

"What's its name?"

"Rowan." It was a little exhilarating, really, the rush of goofy excitement that came from Fenris's interest in his pet. It was just a dog, but still, Garrett found it cute. Endearing. "And your cats?"

"Luna and Starla," Fenris answered.

"Unique names," Garrett commented, and Fenris gave a little cock of his head, wrinkling his nose.

"You say that," he said as they turned a corner, his tone ironic, "but they really aren't. I got Starla from the shelter with her name already, and when I got the kitten I decided she needed a matching name. Luna it was."

Garrett could not help himself. "That's adorable!"

"Maybe a little," Fenris agreed, surprisingly unfazed, and a smile crossed his lips then, something incredibly soft and fond. "Luna's a little asshole, though. What about Rowan?"

"She's a retired police dog."

Fenris frowned slightly, a surprising response. "A police dog," he repeated.

"A bomb detection dog, to be more precise," Garrett clarified, and Fenris relaxed again.

"And you named  _her_ Rowan?" he asked, eyebrows raised. Garrett crossed his arms with a small, indignant sniff.

"I didn't know she was a girl," he said defensively, and Fenris grinned at him. He adored that look on him. "But she likes her name! She's had it a long time. She retired pretty late for a police dog. She used to be pretty fierce, but now she's just a sweet old thing. Went mostly blind from cataracts, though, and she's probably got a case of doggy Alzheimer's."

"Canine cognitive dysfunction," Fenris said automatically, and when Garrett whipped his head around to stare at him, he seemed to shrink a little. "Sorry."

"That's okay," Garrett replied, more surprised than anything. He supposed that veterinary class was not as useless as Fenris would have him believe. "Well . . . we're waiting on results now. If she's got it, I'm not quite sure what to do with her."

"There is medicine to help, and keeping her active will, too." Garrett had the feeling Fenris was not sharing the extent of his knowledge, but doubted he wanted to hear the rest. "I'd like to meet her."

That . . . that was an incredibly sweet offer. Garrett tried not to get excited at the same time - meeting Rowan showed not only care for his dog and her condition, but a willingness to put up with Garrett more, as well. "I think she would like you," he said warmly. "And maybe I can meet the cats, too."

Fenris gave a little snort, and Garrett feared he had said something wrong, but the bartender sounded amused when he responded. "I can't say the same about them. They probably won't even notice you're there. I appreciate the sentiment, though."

It was then that Fenris stopped, and Garrett was a little surprised at the abruptness of it. He glanced back and saw a rather bemused look on the other's face before Fenris turned around to look behind them. An exasperated noise left his throat and he backtracked to a brick building with outdoor seating that they had passed. Garrett couldn't withhold a small laugh. They had been so deep in conversation - about  _animals,_ no less - that they had completely missed their destination.

Fenris held the door open and they both stepped inside. It was pleasantly warm, heat radiating from the pastry display, and Garrett's slightly cold hands and face welcomed it. He had not noticed the chill, probably from talking so much. He got a look around and found that the place was definitely not what he was expecting. When Fenris had mentioned coffee, Garrett had imagined a quaint little cafe, not a vintage-looking diner with a full bar on one side. He gave Fenris an inquiring look, and the man looked beyond entertained.

"Not what you were expecting?"

"I thought we were going for coffee," Garrett stated, a regular Captain Obvious.

"It's technically a cafe." Fenris pointed to the menu above the nearby bar. At the top read  _The_ _Vagabond Cafe._ "And they serve coffee."

Without waiting for Garrett to respond, Fenris headed for the bar and rested his forearms against its surface. Garrett trailed after him, rather like a lost puppy in this unfamiliar territory. Fenris flagged down the . . . bartender? Barista?

"Medium Irish coffee, heavy on the Irish part."

After writing down the drink, the worker turned to Garrett. Remembering that he had already drank coffee and preferring not to have a sleepless night if he did not have to, he glanced at the menu. "Just a regular hot chocolate, I guess."

They both paid for their drinks and went to sit at a corner booth. There were books lined up against the wall side of the table, and Garrett took a look at the titles, finding he recognized none of them. There was a hallway leading back to what he assumed were the restrooms and most of the bar-cafe hybrid's patrons were out on the patio, enjoying the mix of sunshine and cold air.

"You came  _here_ during your college days?" Garrett asked, bewildered. "What kind of kid were you?"

"The edgy hipster kind," Fenris replied, and Garrett allowed himself a chuckle at that. He could sort of see in the sparse wardrobe he had seen Fenris in so far the inklings of a dark past of an anti-society dork. Before the conversation could go much further in that direction, Fenris continued, "Small talk. What's your family like?" Garrett's smile faltered, and Fenris seemed to notice, quickly backpedaling. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"I'm more of a 'family talk after the third date' kind of guy," Garrett joked lightly, though he could tell Fenris could see right through his humor. "It's just me and Carver, roughing it out in the police force. You?"

"There's not much to talk about." His eyes were focused on the bar now, evasive, and from that, Garrett knew there was quite a bit to talk about. He knew better than to push, though.

"How did you get into bartending?" he asked instead, and Fenris looked at him once more. Garrett could not express how relieved that small motion made him, and anyways, it was a little embarrassing to admit.

"I worked here for a while, actually," Fenris told him. He leaned back in his seat, and it was pleasing to see that he seemed comfortable around Garrett. "After college I was at a major loss. I was here all the time to study, so I was offered a job."

"I'm surprised you didn't stay here." An employee came by, offering Fenris a friendly smile and setting their drinks down. Garrett's hot chocolate was much more than he expected, with both mini marshmallows and whipped cream topping. It only reinforced what he was going to say next. "It's way nicer than the Hanged Man."

"I would have, but I needed more pay than I was getting." Fenris sipped his spiked coffee. "The Hanged Man might be a little shady, but the owner is pretty well off. They're understaffed, too, if you haven't noticed, so I got to name my price."

"You got a hell of a deal, then."

Fenris only nodded in response, taking another sip, and Garrett followed suit. He found that there was just enough whipped cream for added sweetness but not too much to drink easy, though he still got some in his mustache and reached for a napkin to wipe it off. Fenris chuckled, and it was such a pleasant noise.

"What about you, Hawke?" he questioned. Garrett was absolutely satisfied with Fenris using his last name, he decided.

"What about me?" he asked, sounding a little more dumb than he preferred to.

"Becoming an officer," Fenris clarified. "What led you to it?"

It was a touchy subject, but Garrett could at least spare a few details. "I had kind of a rough childhood. I guess I always wanted to be a cop. Enforce justice, and all that. It's a lot more boring than you probably think."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, and Garrett felt the strong itch that came with being scrutinized. "At least you knew what you wanted to do with your life," he finally relented, but it did not feel like a compliment. "Your brother, too?"

"Yeah, Carver, too," Garrett said, a little flustered and rather surprised that Fenris cared to ask the question. "He doesn't know the definition of fun, though."

Fenris cocked his head, pretty eyes staring intently into Garrett's own, and he felt like he was being studied. Finally, Fenris took another drink and said, "I'm glad you aren't like him, Hawke."

Was Fenris calling him fun? Was he  _flirting?_ And he said his name again, to boot. Garrett had no idea what to do with himself or how to respond to such a provoking statement, so he took the logical course of action and took a large gulp of his hot chocolate while he thought of something, making sure to wipe his facial hair after, just in case. Something in his chest fluttered at the idea that Fenris was interested, too, even though it was made pretty clear when he had insisted on exchanging numbers.

 _No time. No time! Garrett Hawke, you have absolutely_ zero _time for relationships. No! Time!_

"Are you?" he asked, allowing his tone to drop low, and the voice in his head screeched in frustration. Their eyes were locked, both men refusing to look away, and at this point he could not tell if it was attraction or a challenge. Possibly both.

"If you were, I doubt we ever would have met," Fenris answered, voice getting that rough edge to it that had made Garrett nearly lose his shit the prior night. "And I certainly wouldn't have been able to take you out here."

 _On a date._ Garrett wanted him to clarify that so badly, but he also feared it. He could not stay with Fenris if that was the case. If it was a date, then he would have to cut the man off. He could not afford that kind of relationship. That kind of distraction.

It seemed Fenris had sensed some inkling of his uncertainty, perhaps discomfort, and he leaned back once more. Garrett had not even noticed that they had both been leaning forward on the table, and he backed off as well, embarrassment heating his face. He hoped he was not blushing.

"You're fun, too, Fenris," he said honestly, if a little awkwardly, and the man looked surprised. Was Garrett not supposed to say that?

"I'm glad to hear it." There was a note of uncertainty in his tone, though a generally pleased expression on his features. "I would hate to drag you out of your office for you to not enjoy it."

"Oh, you can drag me out of there anytime," Garrett replied, a vague sense of dread intruding on his good mood as he thought about all the absolute mess he would have to wade through upon his return. He had not even considered the implication of his words until he looked up from his drink and saw Fenris smiling.

"I'll have to take you up on that offer." Screw it, he didn't care about the unintentional nature of said implications - he was absolutely up for more coffee runs with Fenris. "When do you have to be back?"

It was a sharp jolt back to reality. Garrett pulled his phone out of his pocket and realized with a pang of mild distress that it was five minutes past the end of his break. Had they really been hanging out that long? To make matters worse, there was a message from Carver:  _where the hell are you, asshole?_ It seemed minutes turned to seconds when he was with Fenris.

"Uh . . . about five minutes ago."

"Oh." Fenris's eyes went wide for a second, and then he stared down at the table. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't a big deal," Garrett reassured him, and it really was not a big deal, though he never looked forward to dealing with his higher-ups when they called him out. Not that he really thought that would happen over a slightly extended break. "I enjoyed this far too much to regret it over Carver calling me an idiot, and he calls me an idiot about everything."

"Is that really all that will happen?" Fenris seemed to find it hard to believe. Garrett hardly blamed him.

"Aveline might give me judgmental looks for the next twenty years, but she does that anyways." Garrett stood and pulled his jacket on. Fenris stood as well, draining his coffee.

"Do you want me to walk you back?" he offered.

The idea had a certain warmth spreading through his chest. He smiled and finished off his cup as well, setting it on the table. "I would like that a lot, Fenris."

They left the cafe - bar -  _establishment_ together, and a few people dining at the patio stared as they passed. A little self-conscious at the eyes on him, Garrett shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders a little. What were they looking at? Fenris was staring, too, and Garrett drew his eyebrows together in mixed irritation and embarrassment.

"What?" Fenris started to laugh, and as much as Garrett adored the sound, he was not pleased with its timing. "What's so funny?"

"Hawke . . . you have whipped cream in your mustache."

Garrett hurried to wipe it off with his jacket sleeve, Fenris still laughing next to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait. i got kinda stuck on filler for this chapter.

It was quiet in the office at this time of night, nothing but the scratching of Carver's pen on paper, the clacking of Garrett's keyboard, and the low hum of the lights making a sound. The ambience they created was a soothing, familiar lull. While Garrett had a love-hate relationship with his day job, the work he did with Carver after their regular nine to five when everyone had left the office was something so ingrained into his being that he found it the thing he looked most forward to in the day. He could roll up his sleeves, forget about whatever crime or murder was plaguing him that day, and lose himself in the mystery of Kirkwall's mafia.

Tonight, however, he found it nearly impossible to immerse himself. Rather than the mental sticky notes and pins connecting them with red thread, he thought of snowy white hair, of pretty green eyes and caramel skin and that deep, deep voice.

He could not focus on the timeline of deaths and drug deals and trafficking. Fenris plagued his thoughts, their meeting far too fresh in his mind, and if Garrett lost himself just enough in the memory he could still taste sweet chocolate on his tongue. Even when he could feel Carver's burning glare or heard him sigh pointedly, he could not stop himself from indulging in those thoughts.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

"Garrett," Carver finally said, voice sharp, and the elder Hawke flinched. He knew. Garrett knew exactly what was coming, and he was not ready. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

For a while, Garrett did not respond; if he did not take a moment to simmer, they would only devolve into fighting. As much as they had been through together, they had simply grown up too different, and it showed any time Carver showed disappointment in his actions. Garrett instead chose to stare at his computer screen and the report he was typing up. At some point, he had gone from describing the victim to typing random keys on his keyboard, and he held the backspace button before speaking.

"I've had flings before, Carver," he replied, trying hard to sound calm, when in reality he wanted to throttle someone. Probably himself, but Carver would do, too, what with that sour expression on his face. Garrett was beating himself up enough over this budding  _thing_ with Fenris, so why did Carver insist on minding business other than his own?

"Flings, Garrett.  _Sex."_ He flinched, and Carver continued, completely ruthless in his criticism. "Not this coffee date bullshit. So I'll ask you again: what the hell are you doing?"

"It wasn't a date." Garrett was immediately on the defensive. Carver gave him a signature look, one of both disappointment and pity, and Garrett knew he had lost. He sighed. "It's none of your business, anyways. I'm here and I'm working. It's barely been a day and you're already on my ass. I'm a grown man, Carver."

"First it's harmless lunch dates," Carver snorted, "and then it's forgoing our investigation to be with some guy who's just gonna ditch a workaholic like you anyways, just like every time."

That genuinely stung, and Garrett narrowed his eyes, staring at his screen rather than his brother. Carver let out another dramatic sigh, and he could see his brother pinching the bridge of his nose from the corner of his eye. When it was clear that Garrett would not grace him with a response, Carver spoke again, tone considerably gentler.

"Remember Sebastian?"

Garrett nearly cringed. Yes, he remembered Sebastian. He remembered a lot more about that man than he cared to. It did not hurt, exactly, not anymore, but the mere mention of him still made Garrett want to curl up and hide in shame. The sweet, sweet man that Garrett had invested so much time in, had even been willing to give up his life's goal for, had nearly ditched Carver over.

The man who left him for the church because he had decided not to partake in the sin of homosexuality. Okay, maybe it still hurt a little. Carver's words did nothing to help.

"You almost gave up everything for him.  _Him!_  Remember how dedicated you used to be?"

He did - barely any sleep, no time for himself and definitely not for anyone else. Work was not only top priority, but his only priority.

"Remember what you were like after that?"

Avoidant, disinterested, could not be bothered to go back to doing his work. At the end of the day, he would leave for home and sleep or go get drunk and take someone home. It took nearly everyone he knew to coax him back into continuing his life's work.

"I've only just recently got you working like you used to, and you're still too lenient. I'm not losing you again to some guy just because you think his butt is cute or something. You don't have time for another Sebastian, Garrett.  _We_ don't have time for another Sebastian."

Carver seemed to think that was the end of things, as he clicked his pen and began writing once more. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wished he could without infuriating his little brother. Of course their work was important to him. If anyone wanted a breakthrough, it was Garrett.

He just wished he could get across to Carver that he could be dedicated and take time to himself simultaneously. He wished his hardworking brother would live a little so he could see Garrett's side of things. The captain was rapidly approaching his forties, after all; he did not want to spend his days strict and vengeful when they were moving at a snail's pace.

"One of these days, you'll get in too deep with someone," Garrett grumbled, sipping his shitty workroom coffee. "And on that day, you'll finally understand."

Carver glared up at him, dead serious, and Garrett shrunk a little. Carver never did like his joking.

"I would never let anything get in the way of getting my sister back." It was barely above a whisper, but it was crystal clear in the quiet office. It was the tone Carver used to command fear and respect from new recruits, and Garrett found himself wondering how his little brother had not surpassed him on the chain of command yet. "I expect you not to, either."

Forget fear or respect. This was guilt, intense guilt, waves of it wracking Garrett's body as Carver looked down at his work for the final time. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? That was the point, he supposed - he  _wasn't._ Carver was right, even if it was infuriating, or if he was not completely so. Garrett needed to prioritize.

Which was more important? This little side fling, or finding his lost sisters?

It had been over three decades since then. Three decades of hard work, of loving and losing, of hope and despair in an endless cycle until Garrett learned not to expect anything. Three decades of raising himself and his brother under a neglectful mother and no father, trying not to be a leech to his grandparents, and working hard to get where he was, all because his mother married a mafioso.

Garrett remembered very little of his father, and knew Carver would not recognize the man even if he were to stare at him for hours. He was only perhaps days old when it happened - when Malcolm Hawke seemingly rose from the dead to claim his second daughter. The first had gone months before - Carver never knew her.

All Garrett knew on that day was that his mother came home with her second set of twins, and that after his father left for the final time, his mother was left with only sons. The memories were fuzzy. He only really remembered crying, both a woman and infant's.

His older sister, however, Garrett remembered well. Marian. Would she look the same now, he wondered? Would she still be stubborn and headstrong? Would he look at her after all these years and see himself as though reflected in a mirror? No, that was too romantic and ridiculous a thought. Garrett was far too husky to share a face with a woman, unless she was a very, very unlucky one.

What of Bethany, he wondered? Perhaps she and Carver would be more similar. Or maybe nature was too kind to curse a girl with a face like Carver's. Garrett almost snickered aloud.

He wondered what it was like for Carver. How could he be so dedicated when he never knew his sisters? Garrett knew Marian's face, met baby Bethany the day she was born and even held her, and he still allowed himself leniency. Perhaps it was because Carver never got to know that he was so determined, the unfairness of being stripped of his right to know his family before he could even support his own head.

Carver was a shithead and the biggest prick Garrett had or would ever meet in his life, but he could hardly fault his brother.

Speaking of Carver, his brother spoke up quietly, "We're not getting anywhere tonight. Let's head home."

"I'm sorry," Garrett said after a moment, and Carver shook his head.

"Don't apologize, you big sap. Let's just go."

Go home. Call it a night and go home. Think about what Carver said, which to Carver meant either do as he says or completely disrespect his wishes. There was never a medium with him. Was he really supposed to give up Fenris just because his brother was worried Garrett would leave the investigation? He wanted to call the idea preposterous, but he had nearly done it once before already.

Mute, guilty, and a little numb, Garrett nodded. Perhaps a sacrifice did need to be made.

.

_Fenris: Busy again today?_

Garrett checked his phone the instant it chimed, and felt instant guilt and shame color his face. It was Fenris, of course, as it had been for the past week and a half. Nobody else texted him.

It had been such an easy concept when he had first decided on turning Fenris down. He would just continue to rain check the man until he inevitably gave up and moved on. It was a coward's approach, but when Fenris worked right across the street and had his number, it felt like the right way out.  _Sorry, yeah. Busy again._ If he just said it enough times, Fenris would stop bothering.

Carver shot his brother a judgmental glare from the other side of the divider. It was very clear that he did not approve of Garrett's methods, and why should he? It was very obviously a ploy, an excuse to draw it out in case he caved and decided to return to Fenris. Not that he would. Priorities, and all that.

Garrett set his phone to silent and shoved it in his pocket, and Carver finally returned to his work.

It was then that Aveline rounded the corner from the hallway, making a beeline for Garrett and resting a hand on his shoulder. Her lips were pressed together into a thin line, eyes narrow, face grim. She glanced down at the file Garrett was typing out - the homicide case from before - and gestured for him to follow her with a wave of the hand.

"Forget the paperwork," she said, surprising him. "We found the father."

It was an effective way of clearing Garrett's mind of thoughts of Fenris, though he doubted that was Aveline's goal. He stood quickly, just remembering in time to push his chair in lest Carver scold him again, and followed his superior back down the hallway in a brisk walk. It was hardly rare that Aveline was so grave about a homicide case, but Garrett never stopped being on edge from it. The feeling was contagious.

Up the elevator they went, exiting on the third floor and making their way to the interrogation room. Outside stood Isabela, watching through the one-way glass in fascination, and the Chief of Police herself, Meredith. Garrett supposed he should not be surprised. The head of their branch had to sign off on pretty much everything that happened under her watch.

"Hawke," she greeted curtly, and he nodded politely.

Isabela glanced over them, grinning, clearly withholding a snort. She had always found Meredith's stiffness hilarious. Aveline shot her a glare, but thankfully, Meredith left the room soon after, entrusting the other two officers to their job. Garrett could feel tension in the room dissipate the moment she was gone.

"Terrifying, that one is," Isabela whispered as if in awe, and then let out a mischievous little giggle. Aveline ignored her.

"Any particular reason you're here, Isabela?" Garrett asked, peeking into the room. Inside were two men. One was Varric, the clear smooth-talker. It was not his case, of course; Varric was there to butter up suspects and make them ready to talk whenever an officer came in for interrogation. The other man was clearly the suspect - ragged-looking, dark circles under his eyes, looked like he had not showered in weeks. This would be a piece of cake.

Isabela's hand rested on her chest, and she gaped exaggeratedly at Garrett, looking offended. "Why, Hawke!" she sniffed. "I'm only the one who arrested him. Show a lady some well-earned respect!"

"You did?" He was genuinely surprised at that. Sometimes, he forgot Isabela was an undercover cop pretty much every waking hour, or that she was even a cop at all. "Good catch, then. How'd you get him?"

"I looked at the pictures in his ex-wife's house," Isabela replied, pulling a piece of paper from one of her back pockets. It was black and white, a little grainy from their useless copying machine, but the man in the photo was unmistakably the man in the interrogation room. "Been carrying this with me to keep an eye out. Looks like it came in handy, huh?"

Garrett nodded appreciatively. The door to the interrogation room opened then, and their short friend strolled out, looking satisfied with himself. He made his way to the counter against the wall and poured a cup of coffee. In a domino effect, both Garrett and Isabela followed suit. Coffee was a staple for the office.

"What've you got for us, Varric?" Aveline asked. When the man turned toward her, he was wearing the most smug grin Garrett had ever seen on his face.

"The guy's pathetic," he answered, sounding almost disappointed. Almost. "He's practically waiting for someone to go in there and ask him to tell them everything. He's falling apart, Hawke. You're not gonna have any problem with a confession."

Garrett nodded appreciatively, opting to sip his coffee rather than reply. It really was the good stuff. If anyone were to ask, Garrett would swear the blood that coursed through his veins was at least half caffeine. "Thanks, Varric."

Varric handed him the cup of coffee he had prepared, tilting his head towards the room. "Take this to him. Poor guy looked ready to pass out." Garrett accepted the mug, and Varric clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Garrett rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh before pushing the door open with his elbow. To be honest, interrogations were far from his favorite part of the job. They were usually easy, and, of course, a necessity, but he very much disliked performing them. They were always so tense, often uncomfortable, and extremely draining. Still, he did his best to put on a chipper front, and let the heavy door click shut behind him.

The man watched him with weary eyes as Garrett set the coffee Varric made in front of him. Garrett offered a friendly smile. "A little bird told me you'd need this."

Hesitantly, the man reached out and grasped the mug with shaking hands. "Thank you," he croaked before downing a large, rather audible gulp.

Garrett watched him drink, waiting patiently until the man set the mug back down. Their eyes met, and he took that as his cue to take a seat. He opened the manilla folder laid out on the steel table and glanced over the front page before speaking.

"Adam Knight," Garrett read aloud, then glanced back at the man across the table. He was just in time to see the suspect flinch. "You know why you're here, right?"

"Because some vixen bodyslammed me into a bar?" the man, Adam, said dryly, sipping his coffee once more. His voice was hoarse, that of a chain smoker. When he opened his mouth, Garrett could see rotted, yellow teeth. "I know what you want from me. No use hiding it. I'll get sentenced longer than I'll survive, anyways."

"Because you killed your ex-wife?" Garrett asked. Adam's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. He shook his head.

"I didn't kill her," he said, voice firm. Garrett raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're thinking, but I didn't. Those thugs did. May as well be my fault, though."

Thugs. Garrett wanted to sigh. So the rabbit hole went deeper than they thought. He leaned back in the rather uncomfortable chair and took a drink his coffee before speaking again. "Why did they kill her?"

"Cause the dumb bitch got in the way, I guess," Adam replied with a shrug. "They were there for Livvi."

"Your daughter?" Garrett interrupted for clarification, and Adam nodded. "Why did they want her?"

"Ransom," he replied. He gave an ironic smile, rotting teeth and all. "Look at me. You don't think I'm sober, do you, officer? I wanted drugs and I didn't have money, so they tried to take the kid."

"But your daughter is here and safe," Garrett pointed out. Adam snorted.

"I said 'tried.' Stepdad hid her away, so they took my wife instead." A look of pain crossed his features. "I couldn't take that, so I grabbed Liv and ran for it. They wanted her, so I'd trade for my wife."

A knot of disgust churned in Garrett's stomach, and it took strength to prevent it from showing on his face. His fingers still tightened around his mug and he took a deep breath to calm himself before he shattered it. What kind of disgusting human would put value on a life like that? Would trade the life of a little girl over literally anyone else?

"And?" he finally spoke up, lacing his fingers together on the table. "You took an awfully long time to get to that part. Two and a half weeks?"

"I spent days trying to hide from her step-fucker." Adam grimaced. "I mean, can't blame a guy for it, but it really ruined things. He caught up to me. I had to kill him in front of Livvi."

"Where did this happen?"

"The police already found the body," Adam said dismissively. "I had to hide out for a week or so to make sure they didn't find me. Blew his face off with a shotgun, though, so it's no wonder you didn't connect the dots."

Garrett made a disgusted mental note to check with Merrill for men in their thirties with their faces blasted off. He gulped down coffee as an excuse for silence. This was one of his far less pleasant interrogations, and it was hardly even that, as the man was telling him everything without a care in the world.

This time, the man continued without prompting. "I've been trying to get in contact with that gang. The night that whore arrested me was the night I was gonna talk to a middle man of mine. The sooner I could get rid of that kid and get my wife back, the better."

That was all there was to the story itself, it seemed. There were little details Garrett made sure to jot down - what time events happened, where he hid with his daughter - before he gave the man a forced thanks and finally escaped the interrogation room. By that time, Varric had already made his way back to forensics, but Aveline and Isabela had both stuck around. Garrett refilled his mug and tried to down it in one go, and would have succeeded if it were not so hot.

"Vixen," Isabela repeated distastefully, moving away from the window and leaning against the counter. "Whore! Men have no respect these days. Except for you, of course, Hawke."

"Maybe if you respected yourself more," Aveline grumbled, though her jibe was half-hearted. She took the file from Garrett's grasp, him hardly remembering grabbing it off of the table. "Isabela, go fetch the guard and have him escort Mr. Knight back to the holding cell, would you?"

"Ironic name," Isabela muttered, but did as she was told, disappearing down a hallway. Aveline turned her attention to Garrett.

"As for you, Hawke," she said, handing the file back to him, "Merrill is downstairs with the daughter, Olivia. I want you to ask her a few questions just to make sure the stories match up. Can you handle that?"

"Yes," Garrett replied simply, and finished off his coffee. Aveline smiled and patted his shoulder firmly.

He filled his mug a final time before heading for the elevator, noting that he likely would not sleep until late that night. Before the elevator doors closed, he could see Isabela re-enter the room with the guard.

Back on the second floor, Garrett wandered past the office area to another hall, one where the rooms had glass panes instead of walls. One was a small playroom, full of toys and colorful furniture, walls adorned with bright paints and vivid posters. Inside, he spotted Merrill kneeling at a small wooden table. A small girl sat in a chair on the other side, legs dangling in the air. Quietly, Garrett entered the room.

" - love this tea party, Princess Olivia!" he heard Merrill saying in a silly, low-pitched voice, and caught her with a purple teddy in one hand. The stuffie was sitting on her right at the table, and she moved him back in forth as she mimicked his voice.

She switched stuffed animals, now controlling the cat to her left. The voice was now high-pitched and soft. "Yes, what a splendid occasion! I'm impressed you thought of something like this!"

The girl seated opposite Merrill gave a soft little giggle. She was supposed to be six, Garrett knew, but she seemed quite small for her age. Golden blonde locks tumbled down her shoulders in a neat half ponytail, no doubt Merrill's doing. "I'm happy you're having fun," she said in a small voice.

Merrill smiled sweetly at that, eyes sparkling, and Garrett finally wandered over to join them. Olivia glanced up at him and her smile slipped off of her face. She slipped out of the chair and wandered over to a toybox, facing determinedly away from him.

"Livvi?" Merrill called out, worried. Olivia did not respond. She grabbed the stuffed cat and switched back to the high-pitched voice. "Princess Olivia!"

Merrill glanced between Garrett and the teddy bear pointedly, and he got the memo. With a sigh and more than one joint cracking, he took a seat cross-legged on the floor and held the teddy, moving it the same way Merrill did as he attempted something of a cutesy voice.

"Princess Olivia," he said, and internally winced. His throat was going to hate him after this. "Won't you come back?"

Olivia looked back at him through the corner of her eye, trying to be discreet. As discreet as a child could get, anyways. A small smile crossed her lips and, hesitantly, she made her way back to the table. Garrett could not help but smile at her.

"Livvi, this is officer Hawke," Merrill introduced, and Garrett offered a slightly awkward wave. He liked kids, but in all his years on the job still did not have quite so much ease working with them as Merrill.

"Hi, there, Livvi," Garrett greeted in the gentlest voice he could muster. She looked away from him, noticeably unsure of his presence, and started fiddling with her play teacup. "Can I join the tea party?"

Olivia was silent, but after a moment she nodded. "Sure," she answered, and both adults smiled as she poured air into a plastic cup and handed it to Garrett. He pretended to sip, and made a noise of contentment.

"This is fantastic!" he praised, and held his cup out for more. Olivia smiled giddily and poured more into it. Merrill was grinning widely next to him. "Can I ask you some questions, Olivia?"

Olivia nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah," she said.

Garrett smiled and nearly sipped his coffee, but remembered his tea just in time.


	4. Chapter 4

Garrett checked his guns for the umpteenth time. Fully loaded and functional, cleaned out and re-cleaned a million times just an hour prior, and yet he always wondered if this would be the time they malfunctioned on him. Firearms were only machines, after all, manmade and capable of failure.

After lining up Olivia's story with her father's, they had hooked Adam up with a bug and sent him to his middle man. One meeting and coordinates later, the station was bustling with activity, Carver putting together a team of his best to accompany his brother and Aveline to the rescue slash drug bust. Carver himself was not put on the case, for which Garrett was silently grateful.

After over a decade in the police force, surely, Garrett would have been used to raids. The dread that came with knowing they would likely lose officers, the adrenaline coursing through his veins in place of fear, and the knowledge that failure was possible, however, were things he could never adapt to.

The SUVs were left a block away from the dilapidated old warehouse, and Aveline led their forces forward on foot. They split up, Adam following Aveline along with a select few officers, and the rest of their force trailing behind Garrett as they surrounded the building. Adam was their scapegoat, sent in with another bug, and Garrett waited silently and patiently for their cue to storm in.

He could see through a gap in the wood of the building. Inside stood a group of roughly a dozen people, seemingly all armed. The gang, at first glance, but a further look surprised Garrett with the observation that three or four of them seemed to be part of an entirely different organization. They were clad in gray and blue with a crest painted on the back of their jackets. Something about it stirred in Garrett's memory, but the light inside was dim and he could not make out details.

The hostage - Adam's wife and Olivia's stepmother - was tied up and sitting slumped over on the dirty concrete floor. Mary? Maria? Something like that. She seemed to be unconscious at first glance, but Garrett thought he could see her eyes fluttering slightly, as though she was blinking. She was alive, at least, and that was what mattered.

The whispering from inside stopped immediately as Garrett watched Adam step through the creaky old doors.

"Maddie," he croaked at the sight of his wife. Close enough.

"Not another step," came a woman's voice, one of the ones in the blue and gray, and judging by the look of distrust and betrayal on Adam's face, those people were not of the gang he had been associating with. "Where's the girl?"

"I - " Adam's voice was strangled, and he took a step back. Immediately, nearly every gun in the room was drawn on him. "I can explain!"

 _"Get in there,"_ Aveline hissed through his earpiece, and he made a quick hand motion to the other officers as he approached the door.

Some moved to the back door of the warehouse, several settled by the broken windows, ready to shoot from there, and the rest followed him to the front of the building. Aveline was waiting on the other side of the doorway, pistol at the ready. Her other hand held a flashlight, wrists crossed so she could see where she was shooting and aim effectively. She was not the only officer that did so. Garrett, on the other hand, relied on the numerous flashlights already in use, and both hands were occupied with guns.

Inside, Adam was fumbling for excuses as a few gang members closed in on him. They were drawing closer to the door.

"Remember," Aveline whispered, both in front of him and through his earpiece, "if he dies, we're in deep shit, Hawke."

He gave her a thumbs-up, and she gave the most annoyed eye-roll she could muster before she stormed into the room, Garrett close behind. The remainder of their force stayed behind - their trump card.

"Kirkwall Police!" Aveline shouted at the top of her lungs, gun trained on the beefiest gang member in front of them. Garrett focused his aim at the other two surrounding Adam. "Hands where I can see them!"

The men in front of them faltered, and Adam took the opportunity to scamper behind Garrett. He could hardly blame the man - the captain was an absolute bear, far more intimidating than even Aveline, which was saying something.  _Only in the field, though,_ Aveline would tease him.

A voice raised in raucous cackling, followed by more mocking voices. Looking past the men they faced, Garrett found none of the sources were those in the gray and blue. Something about them nagged in the back of his head, but he ignored it in favor of focusing for the inevitable scuffle ahead.

"Two of you?" a man with a heavy gold chain snorted. He was likely the leader of the thugs, though whether he led the actual gang or not was a mystery. Next to him, the other group was silent. "The PD is really slacking these days, huh?"

Aveline scoffed beside him, and Garrett tried to nudge Adam to get him to leave before a firefight occurred. He did not take the hint.

"You told me we would have no interruptions."

The voice was cold, the woman from before crossing her arms and staring down her nose at the man next to her. Garrett knew without an inkling of doubt that she was the one in control of the situation. Her hair was dark and cut short, eyes a piercing icy blue. She was small, but the red paint - ink? blood? - streaked across her face and the air of superiority she held made her presence larger than any in the room.

"It's two cops," the gold-laden man grumbled, casting his eyes away from her and toward the officers. Garrett held his breath, ready to fire the moment he was given the order to.

"Don't be foolish," the woman snapped, and, getting the attention of her fellow members, jerked her head toward the back door.

It took everything in Garrett's power not to swear aloud as two of them peeked out the back entrance, and, four resounding gunshots later, returned with blood splattered on their jackets. He knew it was not theirs.

"Shit," Aveline swore under her breath in his place.

"Maddie!" Adam wailed from behind him.

Alerted by the noises and their Aveline's outburst, the loud footsteps of their team sounded behind them, and Garrett knew there were officers standing behind them, guns ready. The woman curled her lips into a sneer and, before Aveline could get any orders out, whipped out a gun and shot the hostage in the back of the head.

"Our deal is over."

Garrett caught a glimpse of the crest on her jacket one last time before she and her comrades disappeared out the back door, and it all clicked into place in his head.

"Fire!"

But Garrett did not listen to Aveline's order, and he vaulted over the dead hostage and sprinted towards the back door as gunshots rang around him, muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. A bullet whizzed right past him and skinning his arm, but he ignored it, instead bursting outside and eyes roaming the area for any sign of the woman from before or a single member of her crew.

They had vanished.

Someone came up behind him and he nearly fired, but it was only Aveline, clamping a hand down on his shoulder and inspecting his arm. He hung his head and reluctantly holstered his weapon, pressing his lips together in a grim line. Aveline looked out towards the dark alleys in front of them.

"No sign of them?" she asked.

Garrett shook his head. Aveline rolled up his sleeve and took a closer look. He allowed her to do it without complaint.

"Looks nasty," Aveline commented.

"It's nothing."

"Let's get back to Anders. He can judge that."

They re-entered the warehouse to see two dead officers, a dead gang member, and the rest of the gang in cuffs. Adam was crumpled on the floor next to his dead wife, shuddering sobs wracking his frame. Garrett wanted to feel pity, but this was all the man's fault. Death of innocents was a direct result of affiliating with the people he had.

The crest of the Mafia appeared before his mind's eye once again. Why had they been there? What did they have to do with anything?

Anger beginning to boil in his stomach, Garrett found himself drifting away from his superior as she radioed in a cleanup crew. His feet carried him faster and faster towards the pathetic huddled man on the floor. Adam looked up at him with drooping, red-rimmed eyes, which widened only slightly before Garrett was curling his fists into his collar and lifting him off his knees.

"What aren't you telling us?" he hissed, eyes narrowing into slits, and Adam's eyes went wide in response.

"W-What?"

"The mafia!" Garrett's voice rose, and he shook the now trembling man, leaning down until they were nose to nose. Terror shone in Adam's eyes. "Why were they here? They have better things to do than some petty drug dealing! What did they want with you and your wife?"

"I d-don't know," Adam sobbed, trying to shrink away, hands weakly pushing at Garrett's chest. "Please - "

"Liar!"

There was red crawling across his vision, face hot and thoughts a swirling, furious mess. Why had he not noticed sooner? How could he have not connected the dots? They were right there,so close he could have taken one down and brought them in, but their unexpected presence slowed him. He had failed in taking what would have been a crucial step forward in his investigation, and it was  _all Adam's fault._

"Hawke!"

A painful  _whack_ to the back of his head was not enough to make him release his victim, but his head jerked forward and his thoughts scrambled. Garrett blinked slowly and stared down at Adam, noting the tear tracks down his face and the way he shook with unabashed fear, and guilt quelled the fire in his gut. He quickly allowed Adam free, who scrambled away, breathing hard.

"To Anders," Aveline snapped, her hand still poised to smack sense into him if need be. It was not necessary; it took everything in Garrett's power not to outright storm out of the warehouse, pushing a hand through sweat-dampened locks.

Just outside was the intense flashing of red and blue, and he raised a hand to signal all was clear before heading to the van where he knew Anders was waiting. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, pain radiating from the gash in his arm as it dissipated, and fatigue joining soon after. He clambered into the open side door of the vehicle and plopped down on the floor.

"Hawke?" Anders addressed uncertainly, surprised at the sudden intrusion. Then, seeing the blood on his shirt and the wound on his arm, he repeated himself in a far more concerned tone. "Hawke! You idiot, what the hell did you do?"

"Nothing," Garrett replied, far lower than he wanted to sound, and he winced as Anders immediately went to rinsing his wound. "It's not that bad."

Anders did not address that, instead choosing to continue to fuss. "What do you mean, nothing? You got shot!"

Garrett cast his eyes downward, hiding his shame. Anders noticed his silence and faltered, curiously scrutinizing his face.

"I got shot for nothing," he spat bitterly.

Anders was silent as he bandaged his arm.

.

"How could you let them get away?"

Carver's voice was harsh, accusatory, and Garrett did not know whether to flinch away or shout back at him. His head had started up a harsh ache, his arm was sore from where the bullet had grazed muscle, and he was craving coffee like none other. He was not in the mood to argue with his shithead brother over something he was already beating himself up about.

"Let it go, will you?" Garrett snapped. It only served to outrage Carver further, standing and kicking his chair away.

"Let it go?"he repeated in a low hiss. "Maybe you've forgotten, Garrett, but some of us are trying to get our missing sisters back!"

For the second time that day, Garrett fisted his hands in someone's collar. Carver, however, was not a sniveling mess - the fury in Garrett's eyes was reflected in his own, a challenge sparking between them.

"You think I don't regret it?!" he snarled, shaking his brother slightly. He knew he could be rough, that Carver could handle it, and perhaps he took too much advantage of it. "What do you care?! You never even knew them!"

There were people gathering now, few willing to intercept. He could see a new recruit, Feynriel, fluttering nervously on the sidelines. "Sergeant Hawke," he tried feebly to get Carver's attention, but it was far too late.

"And yet, somehow, I'm not the undedicated failure here," Carver said, a tone of finality in the words as he turned away from his brother.

It took three officers to hold Garrett back when he lunged, wanting nothing more than to sock Carver right in his ugly mug. He struggled briefly against their grips as Carver stared at him with a mixture of shock and anger.

"Hawke - both of you! What the hell is going on in here?"

In yet another display of deja vu, Aveline's voice snapped him out of his rage in an instant, and he fell still. The arms holding him back did not yet relent as all heads turned toward their lieutenant colonel. Shame threatened to flood Garrett's face with a red hue, but he was still seething just enough to prevent it from happening.

Neither of the brothers had an answer, and Aveline rubbed her temples wearily. "Captain Hawke," she barked out briskly, and a lesser man would have jumped at the way she addressed Garrett. "You're taking the next two days off."

"Aveline - " Garrett immediately began to protest, but she shut him up in an instant.

"I'll finish up your report," she said. Her tone left no room for comment. "You're to get some rest and come back when you're feeling more sociable. And Sergeant?"

"Yes, ma'am?" Carver replied, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"Get back to work. Now. You're going to pick up the captain's slack while he's gone, even if it throws you into overtime." Aveline offered an eye roll, and motioned for the officers to release Garrett. They cautiously obeyed, relieved when he did not immediately leap onto Carver. "It's not like that's anything new to you, anyway."

Unlike Garrett, Carver did not protest. The mere fact left the elder Hawke seething, as though his little brother was rubbing in his face how much better of a subordinate he was. He was always doing things like that, trying hard to outshine Garrett, and today it had crossed over from annoying into infuriating.

"Hawke," Aveline said, a little more gently, but with a sharp edge that was not to be questioned.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Garrett snatched up his coffee and jacket and made his way to the elevator. Nobody joined him on the ride down, not even Aveline, and it gave him a moment of solitude to breathe and attempt to calm himself. It had been ages since he and Carver had butted heads so intensely.

But then, it had been even longer since they'd had a lead, and Garrett had absolutely ruined their opportunity this time around. Still, as if Carver needed to rub the already intense guilt in his face, as if he did not blame himself enough.

Maker, he could use a drink.

It was probably a terrible idea, blowing out the front doors of the building and making a beeline across the street to the Hanged Man, but Garrett did not care in the slightest. All he could see was Carver's stupid face, hear his biting remarks, feel his judgmental gaze on his skin, and right now Garrett did not give a flying fuck what Carver would think.

If he was going to disappoint his brother, it may as well be on his own terms.

The bar was nearly empty at this hour, as most of the station had not yet gotten off work, but it was growing dark outside and Garrett was hoping that he would see a head of pretty white hair behind the counter. Unfortunately, it was the owner, Corff, instead, and with an angry huff Garrett threw his jacket down on the back of a stool and plopped down.

He raised a hand for a drink, but Corff held up a finger, shaking his head. "My shift just ended. The next guy'll get you," but Garrett barely listened, only grumbled a wordless response.

Across the bar, he saw a small gaggle of women with a variety of colorful drinks at a booth - he was sure Corff hated mixing those - and sitting at the short end of the counter he found a couple of younger men, probably college age, quietly joking and laughing around. The normalcy of the tenants was surprising, considering the run-down haggardness of the bar, but Garrett supposed it was a fun hole-in-the-wall joint when it was not full of cops.

"Hawke?"

The voice was laced with both surprise and something akin to wariness, and Garrett looked up with a start. Pretty green eyes were narrowed at him, and Fenris crossed his arms, staring him down as though sizing him up.

"Funny seeing you here," he said, something accusatory in his tone, and were it any other day, Garrett would have apologized. Instead, he shrugged, and grumbled out a response.

"I guess it is."

Fenris eyed him for a long time, perhaps far too long, and reached for a small glass. "Rum and coke?" he asked, and Garrett shook his head.

"Whiskey."

A cocked eyebrow. "It's seven."

Garrett wanted so badly to snap out,  _did I stutter?_ Instead, past a barely restrained eye roll, he raked a hand through his hair and managed, "I know."

"On the rocks?" Fenris questioned skeptically. Annoyance had Garrett's hands curling into fists. Would he just get him his damn drink already?

"Fuck the rocks," he answered, a little too forceful. Fenris, unfazed, clicked his tongue at the officer and set a glass bottle of amber liquid on the counter with an overly loud  _clunk._

"Help yourself."

It was surprisingly generous, and Garrett faltered. Fenris walked away before Garrett could thank him properly, going to ask the college kids if they needed anything, and he hesitated before grabbing the bottle and pouring himself a glass. He threw it back quickly, gulping it all down and relishing in the way his throat burned.

Two beers sliding over to the students later, Fenris was back, leaning his forearms against the counter. "So," he said slowly, quietly, sharp eyes zeroed in on Garrett, "why are you here?"

It was confrontational, and Garrett very much did not like it, but he supposed he owed the man an explanation. He poured himself another drink and took a hefty gulp of it before answering. "Aveline's put me on leave for two days."

Fenris canted his head slightly. "Good," he replied. "You can stop avoiding me and talk, then."

Garrett downed the rest of his glass. A pleasant buzz muted the warnings in the back of his mind. "I shouldn't," he said quietly. "Carver will kill me."

"Carver?" Fenris questioned, and gave a disgusted scoff. "Do you always do what your little brother tells you?"

"Only when he's right," Garrett answered bleakly. Fenris was quiet a moment before he moved to refill Garrett's glass once more.

"How is he right?" Fenris slid the glass over to Garrett, watching as red started to bloom in his cheeks. "What's so bad about me that you have to dance around me for days, hoping I'll give up?" Garrett blinked slowly at him, and he scoffed. "What, did you think I wouldn't notice? I'm not an idiot, Hawke."

"I can hardly afford a distraction from work," Garrett said after a moment, surprising himself. Perhaps it was the abundance of alcohol loosening his tongue - his cheeks were getting warm and his tie was starting to feel too restricting. Perhaps that was Fenris's plan. He found he barely cared. "I have a job to do. I don't need a pretty face to keep me from it."

Did he really just say that? Garrett downed his glass again to hide his shame, but Fenris only briefly smiled, not commenting on it.

"Then I won't keep you from your job," he said simply. "It's not as if you work twenty-four hours a day, Hawke."

"Not officially," Garrett muttered. Bitterness seeped into his tone. He reached for his glass and frowned when he found it empty. He did not want to think about his brother, but he could not avoid it. "We - Carver and I - we have a side project. A very important side project, and I've gone and fucked it up. I'll have to work overtime for weeks before I'm back in his good graces." He smiled sardonically. "He already doesn't like you. If I went chasing after some guy after that . . . well."

"How did you fuck it all up?" Fenris prompted, and Garrett involuntarily winced. He reached for the bottle, but Fenris laid a hand over his, shaking his head. "Talk first."

Trying not to show how flustered he was at the simple touch - damn the alcohol, making his mind fuzzy and loosening his tongue, completely destroying his self-control - Garrett rubbed at his face. Should he speak? Why was he even telling Fenris all this? Carver was already going to be on his ass when they got home for earlier's events, but knowing he was with Fenris after . . .

_Fuck Carver._

"There was a raid." He was not about to go into full detail, as he was far too tipsy for that, but he supposed he could spare a little. "Me, about a dozen other officers. A hostage and drug bust, at first, but there were mafioso there. I tried to catch them, but they just - " He waved his hands a little, a lost expression crossing his features. "They fucking  _vanished,_ Fen, into thin air!"

"Fen?" the bartender echoed, amused, and Garrett had the decency to look absolutely ridiculous for a moment before he forced himself to shut his mouth and pretend he was not mortified at his slip of the tongue. Fenris dropped it, thankfully. "How is that your mistake, Hawke?"

Garrett stared at him, mind only static at the question. "Are you serious?" he asked dumbly. Fenris only waited for his answer, and he fumbled. "What do mean, how is it my mistake? I let them get away!"

"Weren't there plenty of other cops there?" Fenris countered, raising an eyebrow, and Garrett fell silent. "A dozen cops, and you're the only one at fault for their escape? Where's the logic in that, Hawke?"

Garrett met his eyes, shocked at how earnest they were in forest green depths, and felt a small flush crawl up his face. Fenris pushed the full glass of whiskey forward. When had he filled it? Garrett had not noticed. His urge to drink his sorrows away was starting to fade, and the glass sat, forgotten, on the counter.

"I wish Carver felt that way," he heard himself say in a whisper of painful honesty, and he rubbed at his face with one hand, looking away from Fenris. The man frowned, hesitating, and there was a light brush of fingers on Garrett's wrist that made him look up once more.

"Who the fuck cares what Carver thinks?" Fenris snorted, and in that moment, he looked like a saint.

Shocked at the harsh words, Garrett let out a baffled laugh, and it split Fenris's face into a smile. Garrett covered his eyes with one hand to muffle his mirth. He was beyond lightheaded at this point, the whiskey really starting to kick in, and the idea of Fenris telling Carver off was just far too funny in his alcohol-addled brain.

"I'd love to see you tell him that," Garrett finally managed, and he could have sworn he saw Fenris puff up like an angry chicken.

"Say the word and I will," Fenris said challengingly, but his smile softened it. Garrett felt lost in that smile, the alcohol making his world spin, but not around himself - around the cute bartender.

He shook his head suddenly, and Fenris cocked his own inquisitively.

"No. I can't ignore my job."

"I'm not telling you to ignore it," Fenris replied seriously, voice lowering. "I just think people deserve to think about themselves, sometimes, too."

Garrett shook his head again. Fenris's advice seemed so sound, but he stubbornly chalked it up to his pent-up rage at Carver and the fact that he had downed far more alcohol than was healthy. Thinking about himself was something he had not done in years, decades, even, with naught but a brief lapse that had left his life in shambles. He could not afford that happening again. He knew he would not be able to handle Carver's smugness if it did.

And yet, somehow, that one sentence echoed relentlessly in his mind, persistent and refusing to be ignored.

At Garrett's silence, Fenris backed off. He took the now empty bottle and Garrett's glass in one hand. "I think you've had enough." Garrett only answered by dry washing his face and grumbling something incoherent. "Do you want me to call you a cab?"

Rather than refuse, Garrett muttered past his hands, "Lyft is cheaper."

There was a soft, amused huff, and with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes Garrett heard the bustle of the bartender tossing the bottle in the trash and washing the glass. Tiredness was starting to set in. The day had been long, tense, and stressful, and Garrett was ready to go home and pass out.

Fenris moved around the bar some more, presumably assisting other patrons, and before Garrett knew it he was in front of him again. "Your ride's here." How long had he been sitting there? Had he dozed off some? "Beige car waiting right out front. Let me know when you get home."

Garrett slid carefully off of the stool, suddenly extremely conscious of how the world was moving without him. He grabbed clumsily for his jacket and pulled it on. "Thank you," he said genuinely, and past the haze he caught one last smile from Fenris before he made his way out the door (somewhat gracefully, he hoped).

Sure enough, his driver was waiting outside, and he clambered into the back seat and rattled off his address to the driver, tacking on an apology. He thought he heard them say it was fine, but by that point he had forgotten why he was apologizing in the first place. Standing up had really made the alcohol hit.

It was not until he was in bed and falling asleep, having already texted Fenris that he had made a safe trip, that Garrett jolted back to near-sobriety, feeling a mixture of shock and embarrassment tinge his face pink with a sudden, jarring realization.

Fenris had paid for his Lyft home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fen proteccs his gorls
> 
> light chapter, really just character and world building

_10:38 P.M._

_Me: Im humw_

_Me: Home_

_Fenris: I'm glad. Now go get some sleep, dork._

_10:52 P.M._

_Me: Wht the hell_

_Fenris: ?_

_Me: Yuo paid for m y lift?_

_Fenris: We can talk about it when you're sober._

_Me: Asssssssssss hol_

_Fenris: Good night to you, too, Hawke._

The clock read six forty-five in the morning. Garrett had been woken abruptly by its blaring screech fifteen minutes before, and now it blinked judgmentally at him. He should have been up and out of the shower by the time it showed, but his pounding headache and Aveline's words kept him bedridden.

Instead, he occupied himself by staring at the texts he had sent the night before. They were only a little incoherent, not nearly illegible enough to hide his shame, and Garrett wanted to hit his skull against the headboard as a suitable punishment. He even genuinely contemplated it for all of ten seconds, but in the end decided against it. It would be unproductive at best.

Should he apologize? Would that make things worse? Carver would want him to leave it in the hopes that it would chase Fenris off. With that in mind, Garrett fumbled quickly for a suitable apology through the fog of his headache.

_Me: I am so sorry, please disregard everything I said last night_

It was . . . something, at least.

He was, unfortunately, spared the anxiety-inducing wait for an answer - or even an acceptable time to expect one - by his brother practically howling for him from somewhere else in their home.

"Garrett, get your fucking dog!"

It did wonders to jerk him from that hazy middle-world between sleep and wakefulness. Heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears, Garrett scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the legs of his sweats on the way to the door. Sprinting out of the open doorway, he half-ran, half-slid down the hardwood hall into the living room.

Before him was a sight nothing short of terrifying; to his left stood a giant brindle mutt, crouched low and growling, and in front of her was a fully uniformed Carver with a warning hand outstretched and his other hand hovering over the taser on his belt. On the nearby couch, Garrett could see his mother clutching her coffee to her chest with wide eyes.

Immediately, Garrett let out a high-pitched whistle, and the dog jerked her head around to look at him.

"Hey, baby girl."

He spoke in a careful, controlled murmur, holding his hand out placatingly. Rowan did not stop growling.

"Come on," he crooned. "You know me."

It felt like an eternity that the Hawke brothers stood there, waiting for something to happen. Finally, the low rumble faded, and, slowly, Rowan slunk forward. She nudged Garrett's hand with her snout. Smiling, he reached forward to pat her head gently.

"There you go," he praised her, kneeling and scratching at her ears with both hands. "Good girl. I knew you'd remember us."

"Garrett." Carver wasted no time interrupting the moment, and the moment their eyes met Garrett could feel hostility rise in the air, tension crackling.

"Don't," Garrett warned, narrowing his eyes, but Carver never had heeded his warnings.

"You have to do something about her." Carver's voice was gentle, sympathetic, but firm. "She's getting worse."

"How did she even get out here?" Garrett snapped back, irritation growing. "She can't open doors by herself."

It was a rare occasion that Carver did not feed off of his anger to power his own. Instead, he heaved a tired sigh, and tilted his head toward the couch where their mother sat. Leandra Hawke was already going on the defensive, crossing her arms after setting her mug on the coffee table.

"She won't stop scratching at your door in the morning," their mother sniffed. "She's going to ruin the wood."

"You let me worry about that," Garrett replied, and frustration seeped into his tone at how often he had to tell her that. "And then?"

"What do you mean, 'and then?'" She sounded scandalized. Carver raked an irate hand through his hair.

"Don't do it, Garrett," he started, but Leandra interrupted him.

"No, tell me," she cut across her son, voice rising. Garrett clenched his teeth, trying hard to keep calm.

"She has memory problems," he said slowly, "but even when she forgets, she doesn't get aggressive for no reason."

"It doesn't matter!" Carver burst in furiously before his mother and brother could go at each other yet again. It was a daily occurrence now, sometimes happening multiple times a day, and the youngest Hawke was nearly always caught in the middle. "Rowan is losing her mind more and more every day, and it's starting to get bad. You need to accept it, Garrett, and  _do something about it."_

Garrett stood abruptly, pushing past his dog to tower over his brother. He was tired - tired of this conversation, tired of his pounding head, tired of his stupid brother arguing with him at every turn, tired of his god-awful mother antagonizing him. Carver glared defiantly up at him, unintimidated.

"She has a vet appointment coming up. Until then, would it kill you to show the tiniest amount of, oh, I don't know, humanity?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Leandra gasped indignantly, looking as scandalized as ever. "Your brother does more for this family than you ever have! You're lucky he even gives you the time of day!"

"Mother, enough," Carver warned. "I'm running late for work, and I don't have the time to mediate you two much longer." But neither mother nor brother were having it.

"Running late cleaning up your mess," Leandra sniffed at Garrett. He clenched his fists, trying hard not to retort, but of course she just kept going. "If you'd just done your job and caught those criminals, maybe you'd actually be getting somewhere in your investigation!"

"You're the one that let that bastard take them in the first place!" Withheld rage burst forth from Garrett in the form of blame, and he took pride in the way his mother bristled. "And you have the nerve to blame me for not getting them back fast enough for your liking?!"

"Enough!"

Carver's voice was harsh, biting, but Garrett wasn't sticking around to listen. It was too early for this. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed back down the hallway to his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear Rowan's claws clicking on the hardwood, panting as she followed him.

Carver called out irritably from the living room. Garrett ignored him. Was he being unreasonable? No more than his family, surely.

His phone was alight with new texts.

_Fenris: We all have rough nights sometimes. How are you feeling?_

Garrett had not realized how his anger made him tremble until he was struggling to type back.

_Me: Are you busy?_

The reply was nearly instantaneous.

_Fenris: That good, huh?_

_Fenris: Kind of busy, but why don't we get breakfast? You'll feel better._

Oh, Carver would have his balls in a jar.

_Me: tell me where_

He could try, at least. Garrett hardly cared.

Rowan watched with a tilted head as he threw a flannel on over his tanktop and struggled into a pair of worn jeans. He could not get his shoes on fast enough. His phone buzzed with an address, and he swiped his keys and wallet from his nightstand and jammed them into his pockets. Garrett gave Rowan a small pat to the head before making his way back down the hall.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Carver's voice was a grate on his nerves, and it took everything in Garrett's power not to snap at him. "Enjoying my day off," he said, voice still cold.

He moved to the elevator and hit the call button. He could feel Carver's glare on his back.

"You're going to see Fenris, aren't you."

It was not a question, but a statement dripping with disdain. He could hear the indignant little huffs that meant Leandra was bristling, prepared to scold him again. The elevator doors opened with a small  _ping_ and he stepped inside.

"We talked about this," Carver ground out. Garrett pressed the number for the first floor and turned to face him, raising a forced apathetic hand.

"Later."

Carver realized too late what was happening; the doors were nearly shut by the time he was spurred into motion, and he was too late in pressing the button. Garrett was moving downward without him, and despite the angry promise of vengeance written all over his baby brother's face, he took incredible pleasure in knowing his brother would be even later because of him.

It did not, however, sweeten the bitter taste on his tongue.

.

Garrett had to double and then triple check that he had the address right. The building was made of brick - not the charming red kind, but gray, cracked stone that looked like it barely upheld safety requirements. The windows that allowed a glimpse inside had the sun reflecting off of them, so Garrett had no way of seeing the inside unless he braved it himself.

Stalling, he shot a text to his friend.

_Me: I'm here_

_Me: I think_

Was this really the place Fenris had in mind?

Hesitantly, Garrett stepped out of his car - he had just retrieved it from the department lot - and moved to the front door. It was old-fashioned, wooden with a brass knob instead of a glass pull door. On the glass above it were painted words in a pretty script:  _The Good Egg._ Preparing himself with a deep breath, Garrett swung the door open and stepped inside.

It . . . was not nearly as bad as he expected.

The black and white tiles under his feet looked newly done, and on either side of him were rows of booths that featured dark wood and pastel yellow cushions. In front of him sat a counter with a noticeably old cash register and a display case full of pies, and behind that a kitchen area that seemed to be the source of a pleasant aroma in the air.

One yellow-clad employee was cooking in the back, and two others were chatting with him, but Garrett's eyes fell nearly instantly on the man at the register. His elbows were braced on the counter, smiling at the employee he was speaking with. At the jingle from the bell above the door, he glanced up, and his smile faded slightly.

"You found the place alright, I see," Fenris greeted him. Was that apprehension in his tone? Garrett stared at him, blinking several times before he spoke.

"Hey," he settled on, because it was all he could think to say. Both Fenris and the girl next to him were staring, and he realized he was probably expected to say more. "I, uh, didn't expect you to be working here."

Fenris's smile was sheepish. "Surprise."

They were spared the awkwardness of Garrett's slow comprehension by one of the girls in back coming up to loop her arm with Fenris's. Something stirred in Garrett's stomach at the sight, but he pushed it down.

"Is this him?"

Her eyes were full of curiosity, and the other girl in back was not-so-subtly eyeing Garrett as well. He felt like he was being scrutinized when he realized that more than curiosity, there was apprehension in their gazes. When the first girl that Fenris had been speaking with leaned over to whisper something in his ear, Garrett found himself more and more uncomfortable, and somehow even embarrassed.

"Busy hands," called the chef in the back, and, with a few annoyed murmurs, the girls whisked away to find something to do, though Garrett knew they were still ready to listen in. "Fenris, help the customer already, will you?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Fenris called back, and suddenly he seemed so much more comfortable, more sure of himself. "I know him." He turned his eyes back on Garrett. "My shift ends soon. Have a seat."

Garrett obediently followed him to a nearby booth, though, out of habit, he chose the side facing the door - the opposite side from where Fenris gestured. Fenris cocked his head in question.

"I like to see the door," Garrett answered the question he knew would be asked. He did not expect Fenris to understand, but somehow, he seemed to get it.

"Coffee? We have normal roast, or a caramel special. Bottomless cups."

Now that was something Garrett could get behind after the exhaustion of dealing with his family. "Sign me the  _fuck_  up," he muttered, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic, but Fenris seemed pleased by the response.

"Normal, or - ?"

"Normal. And sugar, please?"

Fenris was only gone a moment, but Garrett still found time to check him out. The easter colors were not something he quite expected from Fenris, but they looked good on him. Especially the black slacks. Some of the girls had been wearing little hats, but that must have been optional, because Fenris did not have one.

Fenris returned with a rather sizeable coffee carafe, a cutely decorated mug with a spoon resting in a small carved hole in the handle, and a simple sugar dispenser. "I'm afraid if you prefer Splenda, you'll have to look elsewhere."

Garrett made a face. "Hard pass," he said, and Fenris chuckled, sliding into the booth across from him.

"I thought about waiting until I was off work to invite you," Fenris told him, pouring coffee into his mug and sliding it over to him, "but it's been slow all morning."

"I appreciate it," Garrett replied honestly, measuring out a few spoonfuls of sugar and stirring them into his drink. "I was more than ready to get out."

The bell at the door jingled, and a man strolled in, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Fenris frowned and started to stand, but one of the girls greeted the newcomer with a friendly chirp, and hesitantly Fenris sat back down. He propped his chin on one tattooed hand, staring intently as Garrett tried the coffee.

"Better than the stuff at the office," Garrett praised, pleasantly surprised. It felt shameful to admit to himself, but perhaps he had been judging the small diner too harshly by its cover.

"Is that a feat?"

"Not for my floor, but even forensics has nothing on this stuff." Garrett indulged in another long drink, and Fenris leaned back, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Good." They were quiet a moment, but they were far less tense now, enjoying the ambience of sizzling food and cars driving past the building. Fenris's voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Mind telling what had you so eager to leave?"

Garrett could not help the instant scowl that pulled at his features. He hid his face in his mug, composing himself before speaking. "Take a guess."

"Carver," Fenris muttered, looking just as irate as Garrett felt. It was almost amusing, how Carver managed to rub people he had not even met the wrong way. Almost.

"Now imagine him teaming up with someone even more judgmental," Garrett grumbled. Fenris raised a brow, waiting for the answer, and Garrett relented. "Our mother."

Fenris tilted his head. "I thought you said it was just you and Carver?"

"I  _wish_ it was just us," Garrett said, a sardonic smile replacing his frown. He went for a drink and realized it was empty. It seemed almost instinct that had Fenris reaching out to refill it for him. "But I'm not here to complain."

"It's alright," Fenris said, and he sounded honest enough.

He pushed Garrett's mug toward him, and the latter took a grateful sip before realizing he had not yet added sugar. Yet the coffee was not bitter; in fact, it was perfect, and Fenris chuckled at his confusion. Had Fenris observed how much sugar he put in and replicated it?

"Clever bastard," Garrett sniped at him, unable to help his smile. "What about your mother?"

Fenris paused then, and Garrett worried if he had misstepped, but then the man shrugged. He seemed unbothered when he said, "I never really knew her."

"Lucky," Garrett sighed wistfully, easily diffusing any tension that might have gathered. "Trade me mothers."

"No chance," Fenris denied, rolling his eyes.

It was then that someone approached their table, and Fenris rolled his eyes harder at their visitor, drawing a chuckle from Garrett.

"Really, Fenris," the newcomer said, shaking his head. It was the chef from before. "Look how busy we are. This is hardly the time to socialize."

Fenris snorted. "Absolutely swamped," he agreed, but stood anyway. "Too bad I'm clocking out soon. You'll all be terribly lost without me."

"I'm sure we'll manage." The man sounded amused, and turned to Garrett. The friendliness dropped for something more polite, more wary. "I'm Solas, owner of The Good Egg. It's nice to finally meet Officer Hawke."

He wanted to ask if Fenris had really been talking about him, but Garrett's eyes were drawn to Solas's hair . . . or lack thereof. He was completely bald, head shiny, very reminiscent of an -

"Egg," Garrett blurted, unthinking.

The restaurant was silent for all of half a second, in which Solas frowned deeply at him and he was sure he would spontaneously combust from shame. Following that was a loud hoot of laughter from one of the girls behind the counter, who had to grip the surface for support, and things only escalated from there. The rest of the girls dissolved into helpless giggling, and Fenris covered his mouth against a snicker.

Solas put his hands on his hips, corners of his mouth twitching. "Why is that the universal response to meeting me?" he demanded.

 _"Egg,"_ one of the girls repeated between giggles, and they all fell into laughter once more, clutching onto each other and slapping their palms on the nearest surfaces.

Solas shook his marvelously shiny head and retreated to the kitchen. Fenris followed him with a quick nod to his guest, and disappeared behind a door that Garrett had not noticed in his previous analysis of the building. Nearly as soon as he had vanished from sight, one of the girls approached his table, a small notepad clutched in her hands.

"Fenris, uh," she stammered, not meeting Garrett's eyes, "he never asked you about food, did he?"

Fenris had completely glossed over food, hadn't he? Yet somehow that felt intentional. Fenris was, at this point, very obviously not the kind of person to forget things.

Her nervousness was hard to watch. Garrett took the opportunity to read her name tag before addressing her. "Orana, right? No, he didn't, but I think I'll wait for him. Don't worry about me."

He did not know when Fenris had snuck up on them, but when he spoke Orana jumped minutely. Was she scared of everything? "I've got our food covered, Orana. Could you brew me some tea, though?"

She nodded vigorously and swept past him into the kitchen.

"She new?" Garrett asked. To his surprise, Fenris shook his head.

"She's always been a nervous wreck," he replied, and for a moment he looked tired. It was gone so quickly Garrett wondered if he had imagined it. "But she has to be doing something or she'll lose her mind, so I try to keep her busy behind the scenes."

"Why work in customer service if it makes her anxious?"

It was made very evident in the way Fenris narrowed his pretty green eyes at him that he had asked the wrong question. He got his answer in the form of another question, dryly shot back:

"What makes you think we have a choice?"

"We?" Garrett should have kept his mouth shut, but the generalization did not sit right with him. "You already have a job at the Hanged Man. You could quit here."

Fenris stared at him for a long time, like he was judging if Garrett was joking, like he  _had_ to be joking. He looked a mix of genuinely baffled, somewhat pitying, and incredibly offended.

"Me?" he asked, finally, incredulously. "Me, an art student drowning in debt, supporting two cats? You think I only need one job? In this economy?"

"Well," Garrett mumbled, shrinking under Fenris's judgment, "I don't anymore."

Fenris stared at him even longer, and it was terrifying that Garrett could not read his facial expression. Finally, he said, "We can't all be police captains making six figures a year, Hawke. Some of us are a little thing called  _poor."_

"Oh," Garrett said. It sounded just as dumb as he felt, and it was hard to meet Fenris's hard stare. "I'm sorry."

Fenris stared at him a moment longer before shaking his head and letting out a deep sigh.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"My eggs?" Garrett asked, not sounding any more intelligent.

"Yes, Hawke, your eggs." Usually Garrett liked when Fenris said his name, but right now, he sounded like a scolding adult. Absurd, considering Garrett was an adult, and probably older than him. "Today, please."

"Over medium," he said hurriedly, not wanting to frustrate the man further.

"Hash browns?"

"Please."

Fenris swept off into the kitchen and left Garrett stewing in his guilt alone. He could see now where his comments had been insensitive, and he wished he could take them back. He had never seen himself as  _that_ semi-rich person, but that conversation had proven it was the case.

Fenris returned with two plates of food not long after, and at the same time, Orana appeared with Fenris's tea. Fenris thanked her gently, and she hurried off to leave them be.

"I'm sorry," Garrett said again as Fenris took a seat across from him. Fenris set a plate of hash browns and eggs in front of him, rolling his eyes.

"I get it," he replied, sounding more tired than potentially annoyed. "Next time, keep in mind that not everyone has had the life you lived. Now shut up and eat, I've been starving for the last hour."

"Wait," Garrett suddenly burst out, in spite of Fenris's order of quiet. Fenris cocked an eyebrow at him. "This is really early to finish a shift."

Fenris, once again, studied him as if to check whether he was joking. "Hawke, graveyard shifts exist."

"I know that," Garrett grumbled, embarrassed. Did he really come off that slow? "But you mean to tell me you work past midnight at the bar, and then you're here til morning? When do you sleep?"

"Whenever I can," Fenris said.

His tone implied simplicity, but he was evasive in his lack of eye contact, and the way he stuffed a forkful of egg in his mouth deemed the case closed. Mildly concerned but unwilling to pry, Garrett followed suit, and they dug into their breakfast together. Or was it dinner for Fenris?

A bit in they spoke again, and to clear the air Fenris told him about this job. Aside from Orana, the other two girls there were Nessa and Lia. Their crew was small, though they had a few more members on board. Fenris was sure he'd meet them in time.

Garrett insisted on paying the bill; when Fenris started to bristle defensively, Garrett was quick to point out how he had paid for his ride home the night before, and that seemed to calm him.

He set down a five dollar bill and his card for Orana, who frowned at them in confusion before giving Garrett an uncertain smile and trotting over to the register to pester her coworkers. Moments later, Nessa spoke up, her words making Garrett feel unexpectedly guilty.

"Honey, sweetheart. That's a tip."

"Oh - oh!"

Fenris had his eyes glued on the scene, but they slid over to meet Garrett's after Nessa's outburst. His brows raised in a wordless question, one that Garrett understood clearly.

_Do you get it now? What these girls go through?_

"Do people really never tip?" Garrett nearly whispered, and the look Fenris gave him was pure fire, the green forest going up in flames.

"We consider it a good day if nobody gets felt up as a tip," he growled in response.

Orana thanked him profusely when she returned with his card, to which he really had no words - only a strong urge to hug her and apologize this woman he did not know.

Fenris and Garrett left The Good Egg side by side. The sun was high enough to see over the buildings, but it was still definitely morning. They halted next to Garrett's car. He had not even realized Fenris was following him there.

"Why show me this?" he asked.  _Your work, your friends, this part of yourself?_ It was everything and nothing at once. Fenris shoved his hands in his pockets, giving a half-assed half-smile.

"If we're going to be spending time together, I want you do know I'm not all hard liquor and grunge aesthetic," he answered, his voice light, but his eyes on the ground. Garrett found himself yearning for that eye contact.

"I liked them," Garrett told him truthfully. There were those pretty eyes, hesitating to meet his. "I'll have to bring the whole crew by sometime. They'd love this place."

"I think Solas would piss himself at having that many customers."

Garrett and Fenris both chuckled, and his chest was warm at that. Danger bells went off somewhere in the back of his head, some voice telling him this was a terrible idea, but he had no room to care. Garrett had left his place to ignore voices telling him to do anything but what he wanted.

Fenris had invited him out, and Garrett had wanted to come. Fenris had wanted Garrett to learn about him, and Garrett had been eager to do so. And now, Garrett felt he understood some things about Fenris more than he could if it was ever verbally explained, and he was only a few hours into his first day off.

A yawn from Fenris distracted him from his thoughts. The man looked more tired now than ever, and Garrett felt guilty for keeping him, even if he was not at fault.

"Sorry, but I need to head home," Fenris said wearily, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palm. "I'm free tonight. Text me?"

"Sure," Garrett agreed, far too elated at the idea. "Let me know when you get home safe."

"I will. Talk later, Hawke."

"Drive safe, Fen." The smile Fenris gave him in farewell made everything - taking the day off, fighting with his family, going out to eat with Fenris, trying a new diner - so worth it.

Garrett would have to thank Aveline later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e g g


End file.
